


If winter comes, can spring be far behind

by Aemeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya just needs someone to show her some love, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, dany finally learns how to use a weapon, epic power couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-06-28 23:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15717651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aemeth/pseuds/Aemeth
Summary: When Daenerys Targaryen ascends the Iron throne and imprisons Cersei Lannister, Arya Stark kills her in her cell and surrenders to the queen's verdict. As the Targaryen-Stark alliance is threatened by immediate political turmoil in the wake of Arya's actions, Daenerys has to decide the fate of a broken girl and perhaps find something she has lost as well.





	1. The reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> This happens after the end of Game of Thrones. That horribly forced thing between Daenerys and you know who never happened.

 

 

In the last turn of the cursed game of thrones Arya Stark found herself on the victorious side of the great battle of the seven kingdoms.

More importantly, she found herself on the living one, some would say. She herself did not know what to think.

While a warm soft breeze tangled her growing black hair around her face, she pushed it away; and lingered on the freshly scabbed cut that went from her right eyebrow through her cheek. She felt the pain only faintly, her body numb since days, her heart as well, as she stared from the balcony into the debris of King's Landing. The poorly self-treated stab wound in her back, from when she had fought her way into the keep, throbbing faintly. The battle marked city before her barely registered before her tired eyes.

Her list was finished. She had slain Cersei in her cell, in the brown armor of the Starks, the image of her family fierce in her mind. For a glorious moment she had breathed in, deeply, and watched the woman suffocating on her own blood at last. Guards, maybe from the Dragon queen, perhaps from some other house, had seized her and then... nothing.

She just felt empty.

“You shouldn't lean over so much little lady, you might fall.“

Arya gave her watchman an incredulous look, even a humorless smile. He had been trying to be kind to her since she was imprisoned in the keep's dungeon, to her wonder. She could only imagine that as to her size, as so often. The rest, as that she was allowed one hour of freedom in the gardens, watched of course, she imagined to be Jon's doing.

“Most likely the queen will have me killed anyway“, she informed him dryly. “If I wanted to kill myself I would have done it already. If I wanted to kill you, I would do it right now.“

The soldier burst into arrogant laughter while she watched him, until it died at the look in her wolf gray eyes. He seemed to have remembered what he was watching her for.

“Well, if you could, why won't you then?“

She looked down at her chained hands before she gave him a smirk.

“Maybe I want to see her for myself.“

And she did. She did want to see the woman who now finally sat on the Iron throne and more importantly, the woman who rode dragons. And because Jon had asked her too. And maybe because she just didn't know anymore what was to come.

Her path was fulfilled. The burning purpose that had filled her all these years, it had evaporated.

The soldier looked at her with pity in his kind but dim eyes.

“Well. They say she is a beauty.“

_Idiot_ , Arya thought.

 

***

 

“I don't understand it, Arya. She was captured. The fight was finally over. Why would you do this?“, Sansa almost pleaded.

Arya continued to stare blankly in her general direction, at the green and black cell wall, as her sister asked her the same question over and over.

“I told you she was on my list.“

“Your list, your stupid list! What is it to you who kills her? We could finally have peace and not hours after taking it you endanger our entire alliance with the queen!“

“It was her doing that led to father being executed“, Arya reminded her calmly. “It was her who killed Lady.“

At this a flash of pain went over Sansa's face, and with it helpless anger. She grabbed her sister's arm and lunged forward.

“Where are you, Arya? She would have died anyway. Was the satisfaction of doing it yourself really worth risking our alliance with the queen and your own life? How is that serving our family? Look at me!“

At that Arya finally looked up at her sister and for the first time since Sansa had been reunited with her, she looked fragile, her gray eyes longing and shattered.

There was a tense silence between the sisters, so tangiable Sansa heard her own blood rush in her ears.

“I'm sorry“, Arya whispered finally.

Sansa's lips parted and she choked down a sob. Her fingers grasped desperately into the coat of her sister when she heard the approaching steps of a man in armor.

“Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell“, a broad shouldered guard announced with a booming voice, “You are to be escorted to Queen Daenerys immediately.“

As Arya numbly stood to her feed Sansa grasped her tightly.

„Arya, ask her for mercy! Tell her your story, explain that – Arya!“

But the guard had roughly seized Arya's arm and dragged her away.

Sansa remained in the dungeon and clasped a hand to her mouth.

 

***

 

The walk from the dungeon to the throne room seemed endless to Arya. She focused on the two muddy boots of the guard walking ahead of her while listening to the uneven breath of the fat one walking behind; he was out of shape, troubling for a royal soldier.

As usual she took in all the sounds around her, mapping the area unconsciously. She had been trained to be an assassin; lessons learned in the dark of Braavos that were now like a part of her shadow.

Her fight, however, eluded her now.

Finally, they arrived at a grand door. The soldiers pushed it open and Arya looked up into a grand black hall, lined up with grand pillars and circular fires around them. And at the end it was, what so many members of her family had lost their lifes for in the middle of its bloody conquest: the Iron throne.

From the door Arya could only make out a small woman sitting on it, clad in black robes that left her arms free and the famous white blond Targaryen hair, flowing over it in cascades. Next to her stood a dwarf, dressed in fine leather, who she instantly knew to be Tyrion Lannister. Arya lifted her head and started to calmly approach the dragon queen, ignoring the pain in her back, the soldiers following a few paces back. Her hands bound before her she made sure to strengthen her spine and hold her chin high. The closer she got to the queen there more clearly she could see her face; young and angelic to her surprise. Nothing like she imagined the ancient dragon warriors she had read so much about to look. Only her stern impression and level gaze, that demanded authority, matched what she had pictured the final heir of the Iron throne to look like.

It was when she first met the violet eyes of the queen directly that she briefly faltered in her step.

_She's beautiful_ , she thought and was irritated by it just the same.

It was the power that she oozed which was beautiful and Arya respected power in women. There were so few of them she had met who wielded it. She came to a halt just before the steps leading up to the throne, never once breaking her locked gaze with the queen.

The woman's gaze was hard to read but for a second, she thought she could detect wonder in it.

Out of her peripherals Arya noticed the chain holding the queens red cape, crowned by a silver brooch of three dragon heads. For a moment images of her childhood passed by her, dreams of meeting one of these women who flew into battle on a dragon, merciless to their enemies and loyal servants to their family. Dreams of being one of them one day.

Finally, with the weight of shattered dreams, she lowered her head and broke their gaze.

“Your grace.“


	2. Scent of the past

__

 

 _She truly looks like a wolf_ , Daenerys thought as Arya Stark was approaching her. Even with her hands bound she carried herself with feral grace, power and readiness in her step. She was small in statue but had large gray eyes, dark and intelligent, too laced with shadow for someone so young. But the shadows were elusive and the sheer lack of emotion on the girl's face unsettled Daenerys, as much as the information her subordinates had reported to her on the Stark girl did.

When the girl was close enough for them to lock gazes she faltered briefly. Daenerys noticed the deep cut on her brow and cheek and wondered what other injuries the girl had suffered and if they had been properly treated. When the girl arrived at the foot of her throne she stopped but didn't break their gaze, for too long, before she finally lowered her head.

“Your grace“, she said and the softness of her voice silently startled Daenerys once more.

She could tell, however, by the stiffness and reluctance in the bow that this was a girl who had not bowed to anyone in a long time. She raised her chin.

“So you accept my claim to this throne then. Lady Arya.“

The gray eyes looked back up at her.

“I do, your grace“, she answered without hesitation. Daenerys raised an eyebrow.

“Then why would you disrespect me so readily by breaking into my dungeon and killing Cersei Lannister without my permission?,“ she challenged.

The Stark girl hesitated briefly.

“You were not queen then. My queen.“

At this Danerys exchanged a look with Tyrion. The imp stepped forward.

“Cersei Lannister was in the capture of Queen Daenerys, who by then you knew was queen to be, by your association with your brother, King of the north, who supported her claim in the name of your house and bent the knee before her. Therefore, you must have been aware of the severity of your actions.”

Arya straightened her shoulders.

“My brother, the King of the north, has bent the knee before you and I recognize his authority. He had nothing do do with my actions. I was bound by duty to my family to kill Cersei Lannister.“

Again Daenerys locked eyes with the strange girl before her and searched for something, anything in these gray depths. She found nothing but shadow still, glassy and emotionless at the surface.

“And what duty would that be?“

A brief flicker of pain flashed in the girl's eyes and when it vanished there was a new weariness to her.

_“Valar morghūlis, your grace. You would have killed her just the same.“_

Danerys' eyes widened and she felt Tyrion's alarmed gaze on her. She gripped the armrests of her throne tightly.

 _“You speak Valyrian?“_ , she asked sharply in her mother tongue.

A flicker of amusement and pride flickered in the gray eyes.

 _“I do, your grace._ “

_“And where have you learned it?“_

The Stark girl hesitated. _“In the free city of Braavos“_ , she admitted, her face unreadable.

As Daenerys stared at her in shock Tyrion stepped forward again.

“Your grace, could we return to a language that all present parties speak?“, he asked with raised eyebrows.

Danerys tilted her head, switching to the common tongue.

“My men report to me that you are a skilled fighter, some even say you know the art of water dancing. You dissapeared without a trace after the execution of your father Lord Stark, you speak Valyrian, you chose to participate in the battle of King's Landing and broke into the highest guarded prison in Kings Landing, undetected. Tell me: are you with the faceless men?“

For the first time she saw genuine emotion in the girl: surprise.

“You visited Braavos, your grace?“, she asked, in a manner so inculpable, it startled Danerys yet again.

“It is obvious you have. Answer the question.“

The girl didn't blink.

“I have visited Braavos. I am not with the faceless men.“

It was said in an even voice, without a moment's hesitation.

Daenerys studied the girl's face closely, but still it was impossible to find any trace of truth or lie.

She breathed in. “Then tell me: why did you kill Cersei Lannister?“

She could see the the girl swaying on her step, her eyes cloud over briefly, and again asked herself what injuries the girl had obtained. Physically and mentally.  
She tried again.

“You should be aware that the alliance of our houses relies on your answers to me, Lady Arya. I will not repeat my question again.“

This made the pale girl press her lips together. _So she did care about something,_ Daenerys thought with some relieve. With what appeared to be all her strength Arya Stark stood straight once again.

“Cersei Lannister's decisions led to my father's murder”, she announced, anger and ferocity in her voice. “It was my duty to my father to avenge him.“

She faltered again and her eyes dropped in pain.

Danerys stood to her feet.

“Are you injured, Lady Arya?“, she asked, scanning the girl's shaking body.

Something of a dark, weak smile graced the Stark girl's lips, and it made her blood turn cold.

“I've had much worse,“ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then she collapsed, her body falling into itself as if someone had cut a chord. When the guards and Tyrion lept forward to the broken form of Arya Stark, lying in the throne hall Daenerys had fought to be in for so long and so relentlessly - she had to restrain herself from doing the same.

+++

When Arya came to, hushed voices reached her ears, while dreams and pain still clung to her.

“She's awakening. Inform the queen.”

“Give her time to wake up first, for the gods' sake!”

“Queen's orders, Lord Snow.”

She heard steps, heavied by chain mail, move away, a door open and close. Her back was still pounding but hurt much less and she felt a moist herb ointment over her brow. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked into the ones of her brother.  
He smiled at her with poorly concealed worry and reached out to touch her shoulder.

“Hello, little sister. It's about time, you slept the day away.” He chuckled but it died at the lack of reaction from her. She gazed at him like though a wall, still soaking up his sight, his deep voice bringing forth memories. For years she had believed she would never see him again and here he was, reaching out to her with the same familiarity and love she remembered from when before their world had broken down in violence. Yet she felt there was a fissure between them, of things she had done and things both of them didn't know of each other and she felt the hand that was reaching for her was reaching for someone else, someone that didn't really exist anymore.

“Are we home?” she asked him, her voice hoarse from sleep and thirst.

At that he recoiled and his hand slipped of her shoulder.

“No. The queen has decided you are to remain here.”

“As her prisoner.”

“No. It's... complicated. You brought her into a difficult position-”

“We talked of this before”, she interrupted him with a sharper edge to her words. His brow scrunched together in hurt. Hesitantly he put his fingers to her face again.

“Why haven't you told anyone that you were injured?”, he asked, obviously swallowing down his other questions.

Arya slightly turned her face into his fingers, focusing on the warmth of them and looked away.

“It didn't seem important anymore.”

“It didn't seem import! What-”

The door flew open again, and in stepped two guards, followed by no other than Daenerys Targaryen.

Arya turned her gaze towards the queen and found her face impassive, though her eyes focused on her.

“Forgive me, Lord Snow”, she said and stepped closer to her bed “For disturbing your time with your sister. But I need to speak with her alone.”

Jon got up from his stool hurriedly.

“Surely she will be allowed some time to rest from her wounds -”

“No,” Daenerys interrupted him with a voice both soft and firm. “As much as I would like to grant her that time I'm afraid the matter cannot wait and you know what needs to be discussed. Please leave us alone.”

Arya watched her brother carefully as he stood, conflict plain in his eyes. But to her surprise and displeasure, he bowed his head briefly, before turning his worried eyes to her.

“It will be alright”, he told her under his breath and leaned downward again, touching her shoulder. “I don't know what happened to you, Arya. But the important thing is we are together again. I will protect you now. I swear.” Looking to the queen quickly he seemed to become aware again of their audience and sighed, before letting her go. “We will speak soon.” With that he left the room. Before the door closed the queen gave a quick order in Valyrian and her two guards followed, leaving Arya alone with the queen of the seven kingdoms.

Arya tried to stare right into her eyes, projecting strength she didn't feel. But, she couldn't help her gaze drifting to the queen's flowing hair, illuminating the evening dark room like rays of starlight. She had simply never seen anything like it.  
The queen's face softened slightly now that they were alone. She took the stool, pushed it closer to her bed and sat down on it. Arya studied her graceful movements; they had more strength to them than those of most royal women she had encountered in Westeros.

“How are you feeling?,” were the first words the Dragon queen directed at her.

Arya stared at her for a while.

“You are my brother's aunt.” The words slipped out without her thinking, but the information had finally settled in since Sansa had told her in her cell and without the severe pain from before clouding her mind.

Daenerys nodded.

“He could challenge your claim on the throne.”

The queen raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth turning up.

“Yes he could. But he has decided not to.” When Arya frowned the queen smiled a little. “Would you prefer your brother on this throne?”

Arya thought about that for a moment. “No” she said finally. “My brother never wanted titles. He belongs to the north.”

“As you do?”

Arya looked away and remained silent. The queen's closeness and soft demeanor caught her of guard. The young woman smelled of oranges and fire and made her aware of what she had to smell like herself after being in the dungeons, the sharp odor of the herbs on her wounds adding to it. Something in the queen's scent reminded her of the last time she had lain in a soft bed wounded, reminded her of Lady Crane. She quickly stopped her mind from going that path, made easier when Danerys Targaryen's low voice pulled her back to where she was.

“You said you supported my claim to the throne.”

Arya nodded.

“Why?” the queen asked openly.

Arya gave her quick look, before averting her gaze again. Those violet eyes were dangerous in their intensity and she could tell this woman was not someone easily lied to.

“You have dragons under your command and you freed the slaves of Essos. You have reason to hate the Lannisters. You seemed like the obvious choice to my family.”

“And to you?”

“I don't care for the throne. And I don't know you.”

“No,” the queen agreed and Arya heard the sound of water dripping. When suddenly a cold cloth touched her heated brow she flinched and in instinct grabbed the wrist of the queen. The Targaryen woman just looked at her, unmoving. Her skin was hot to the touch, but soft and dry and not at all feverish. Dragon's blood. And after a moment, her heart beating strongly, fighting her instincts down, Arya released her.

“Nor do I know you Arya Stark” Daenerys declared, as if nothing had happened, and brought the cloth to her face again, gently dabbing the sweat away. “Not even your own siblings seem to know you anymore, nor what happened to you since you were separated.”

When she pulled away her eyes wandered over Arya's face.

“How old are you?”

Arya's brow furrowed even more. The whole situation didn't make sense to her.

“Why do you care?” She didn't even pretend to show deference at this point.

“Because you look like a child but you bear the scars of a grown warrior,” the queen answered evenly.

Arya sat up in the bed as much as her injury allowed her.

“I'm _not_ a child.”

There was puzzlement and something like.. concern in the queen's eyes, before they steeled themselves again.

“Evidently not. You managed to singlehandidly undermine my authority in this city, hours after I gained it.”

She raised herself from the stool and stood, towering over her.

“That wasn't my intention.”

The queen gave her a long look before she turned her back at her and stepped away from the bed.

“Maybe not. Be that as it may, these remain the consequences. The one thing I proclaim to understand from your actions is that you acted out of revenge. And you did so carelessly, without considering what it would cause.”

Arya sank back into the pillows, her body not yet being able to handle the strain. She wanted to shoot back at the queen but logically she knew that she couldn't. It was true; she had not seen beyond her purpose and she knew it. The queen turned to her again and her eyes looked at her thoughtfully.

“I have made mistakes like that as well. I know that vengeance can be blinding.”

That was the last thing Arya expected to hear. She looked up at her, her mouth agape. When the queen noticed the change of her mood, she sat down by her side again.

“From what your brother and sister told me I gather you had a list. A list of people that wronged you and your family and who you wanted to pay for their crimes. I also hear you managed to succeed with you goal with quite a many people on that list, including Cersei. You were a little girl when tragedy befell your family. It is beyond me how you must have suffered and how you managed to survive. And I am sorry for what the fight for power over this throne has taken from you and your family.”

Arya could do nothing but to stare at her, her heart pounding. The queen's strong eyebrows scrunched together in symphaty and try as she might, she couldn't find any ingenuity in them.

“Your brother and sister have pleaded for mercy on your behalf” the monarch continued softly. “They are convinced you must have been blinded on whatever path you have taken and that you acted out of love for you family. I believe that. However, you must understand the consequences of what you did. The plan of my council was to publicly put Cersei Lannister to trial, to make her account for all that she did to the people of Westeros. In the end I would have personally burned her alive for these crimes. Including the ones she committed to your family. It would have been done both for justice and to legitimate my claim to this throne to the people and to convince them of my sincere wish to serve them better than the monarchs before me.”

She turned around with her hands folded behind her back.

“This show of justice and empathy is now no longer possible.”

Arya blinked, the thoughts in her pounding head tumbling over.

“So you will execute me on her behalf?,” she asked quietly.

Daenerys gazed at her strangely, with emotions in her eyes Arya hadn't seen in so long she couldn't decipher them.

“How would that be mercy?,” the queen breathed finally, almost sadly.

Arya didn't know how to answer that.

Daenerys' eyes roamed over her face again, then over her hurt body.

Then she straightened her spine again and Arya noted how quickly she shifted between being personal to off closed.

“Very few people are aware of what happened to Cersei. In acknowledgment to your history and youth, as well as in acknowledgment to the support of your family in my claim to this throne you will not be put to trial. It will be announced that Cersei Lannister took her own life with nightshade in her cell and her body will be displaced publicly when her crimes will be announced and when I am to make my first speech. You are never to speak to anyone of what has truly happened in that cell.”

The queen looked at her intensly, with a fire that carried through her voice and body.

Arya nodded slightly. The queen took a deep breath.

“However, as I have said before, some people are aware of the truth. People whose support on I rely in order to take the reins in this city, people who I need to _understand_ the reigns of this city. And I cannot have them believe that those who undermine my authority will go unpunished.”

She looked at Arya pointedly, almost willing her to understand. Arya nodded again, aware of her own numbness reigning her once more.

“So what will be my punishment?”, she asked calmly. Then added carefully: “Your grace.”

Danerys seemed to consider her eyes one last time before she seemed to come to a decision.

“Officially, you will be confined to the dungeons, as punishment for your acts. In truth, you will be doing me a service.”

At that Arya gazed at her warily.

“What service?”

The queen tilted her head.

“What you have done to Cersei has happened to a great many of kings before her. Kings both just and malicious. I have the protection of many armies and my dragons. But this castle is full of dark corridors and people I do not yet know. So even I will remain vulnerable. And I never learned to defend myself.”

At that something came to Arya, from times she was a little girl.

“But it is said that the Targaryen women learned how to fight just like their brothers and husbands?”

When the queen looked at her in surprise Arya regretted having said anything.

“I learned about your family from my teachers in Winterfell, your grace,” she explained hurriedly. “Maybe their books weren't correct.”

She felt Danerys' eyes heavy on her but she thought it wiser not to return the gaze.

“They were correct”, the queen finally replied, with a bit more wariness in her tone. “However, my brother made the decision not to raise me in the old ways. He paid for it later. Now it is high time I corrected his mistakes.” She paused before raising her voice.

“I have decided to appoint you my teacher. In the arts to defend myself, should the need ever arise.”

Arya's eyes snapped to hers, completely caught of guard at this turn of events.

“Me?”, she asked wide eyed. Again there appeared a hint of a smile in the corner of the queen's mouth.

“You have shown remarkable abilities. And as a woman I trust you will not treat me with the dismissal some of my warriors would treat me with, if they were to teach me.”

When Arya just continued to stare at her she leaned forward.

“Lady Stark has told me that you possess the ability of the faceless men to take the form of another. Is this true?”

Arya closed her lips defiantly. The queen's eyebrows raised in that infuriatingly manner yet again and she leaned back.

“If it is true or not, we will find a way for you to roam this castle unrecognized. Once you have healed we will begin my lessons."

Arya waited for her to continue but the queen just looked at her expectantly.

“And what if I refuse?”, Arya asked eventually, not willing to give in so easily, even though she knew that logically she had no say in the matter.  
Daenerys' face became emotionless again, but when she spoke there was warning in it.

“I am showing you great mercy, Arya Stark. If you refuse this service to me you will indeed rot in the dungeons of this castle and you will never return to your family. So what will it be?”

For the longest time the two unlike women stared at each other. Only the fire could be heard through the silence, happily crackling away.  
Arya was wary of the queen's motives and of her sympathetic speech. She was very of her powerful violet eyes. Once again the queen's sweet smell, mixed with fire, wafted over her and she thought once again of Lady Crane, of her family. The look in Sansa's eyes when she was taken away and the obvious hurt in Jon's at her coldness.

For the first time since she killed Cersei, had felt her blood running over her fingers, something like determination stirred within her again.

“I will serve you,” she declared, starring straight into the queen's eyes.

Daenerys nodded regally. “Good. Then make sure you heal. You will be no good to me if you keep hurting yourself needlessly.”

With that the queen rose and left the room, leaving Arya to stare after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a native speaker, so do correct me if I make mistakes please. And more importantly, tell me what you think :)


	3. Bloodlust

 

After their encounter Arya did not see the queen again. Three weeks had past; three weeks imprisoned in a room with a feather bed and golden mirror and without her sword.  
Jon and Sansa came by whenever the many meetings in the wake of a new kingdom permitted them too. Both of them tried to riddle her on her story, of what happened to her and what made her the ruthless fighter they had seen in the battle against the Night king. Arya thought of the great battle, of the sea of inhuman creatures and of the dragons she had seen roaring about her, knowing they carried the queen, but enable to see her. She remembered her blood lust and how, for once, it had been seated after the battle.

“It can't all have been your dancing master”, Sansa quipped once, frustrated.

“He did a lot”, Arya said immediately, before fighting the quelling emotions at the thought of her old master down. This became increasingly more difficult. For the first time since that last training she had time on her hands to think; a space opened for grief, a wide gorge that threatened to shallow her at any minute and she had no place to run. She begged Jon for a sword, any sword, for him to sparr with her. Jon looked at her with infinite sadness. “It's time for you to rest. We'll sparr when you've healed.” Arya wanted to tell him she had fought with multiple stabbing wounds in her stomach. She wanted to tell him him she had been beaten with sticks when turned blind and had fought back. She couldn't tell him. She thought of Hotpie's face, the concern on his soft baby features when he asked what had happened to her. She had wanted to tell him, she did. She hadn't found the words, she couldn't bring herself to push that darkness on him. She had felt shame and anger at herself, for what had she done than what had to be done?

A healer came to her – a Dornish lady so ruthless that she nearly scared Arya. When the woman had unceromoniously udnressed her, cursed at her and was disagreeable with the general state of her body she had looked at Arya and said: “Do you regret not getting married to some royal or other yet girl?”

Arya bristled at that.

“No,”, she answered firmly. At that the myrad of lines in the old face briefly transformed into something akin to a smile, before she shoved a spoon into her mouth quicker than Arya could anticipate.

“Good. Now drink this, all of it, or next time I'll change the bandages, I'll rip them off.”

With the routine visits of her family and Myrala the healer, one day she got an unexpected visitor.  
A woman with dark skin and frizzy dark hair such as she had never seen before.

“My name is Missandei”, she said with a warm and even voice as see sat down at her bedside. “The queen sends me to see how you are.”

Arya appraised her, noted soft skin and intelligent eyes.

“Are you her servant?”

A surprising amount of pride and affection wafted over the woman as she sat up straight.

“I'm her handmaiden and advisor”, she corrected her.

So she belonged to her inner circle. Arya decided that this was a chance.

“Tell your queen that I am ready to begin her training.” Missandei gave her a clearly skeptical look. “The healer says you are not ready.”

Under the protest of her aching muscles Arya stood from her bed, startling Missandei.

“She is wrong. I fought with far more serious injuries before. I haven't touched a sword in weeks, what good am I as a sword master when I do not hold up my own practice?”  
To her great indignation the woman laughed at her.

“What?” she snapped, hating that she stood there in bandages, hating that she didn't have Needle.

The smile on Missandei's face was gentle.

“Nothing. You just remind me of someone I know. But there is more than wounds that keep one from fighting. The queen believes you should rest some more.”

“The queen is not a healer.”

“No. But she has seen suffering. And she knows it when she sees it. Besides that, she is a queen. She has many matters to attend.”

“She won't be able to attend them if she cannot fight the first assassin making it to her bedroom.”

Missandei's eyes widened. “Do you believe the queen is in danger?”, she asked fearfully and Arya noticed it was personal concern.

“Any queen is in danger.”

In the flash of an eye Arya had pulled the small knife hidden under blankets, easily stolen from the healer, and held it to the handmaiden's throat. Missandei shrunk back in her chair and fear crept into her eyes. She was very still, looking up at her.

“I will scream,” she warned her with impressive collection, though her voice was shaking.

Arya held the blade with still fingers and pressed it closer.

“I could kill you before a sound leaves your throat”, she explained softly.

The woman took a shaking breath. “The queen would have your head.”

“I'm sure.” Unblinking, Arya threw the knife to the ground and took a step back, looking into the confused gentle face with determination. “I do not wish to kill you, but I could. I could escape this room any second but I haven't. The queen asked for my service – tell your queen I am ready.”

+++

“She put a knife to your handmaiden's throat!” Ser Jorah shouted, his fist hitting down on the table in the council room.

Daenerys ignored him for the time being and looked at her other trusted friend, who stood by her side as always.

“You say she didn't hurt you?”

Missandei looked conflicted. “No your grace. It think... I think she just did it to prove her point.”

“And what point is that?”, Jorah argued, disbelieving. “That she could kill anyone whenever she pleases? That she demands to be seen by you? She said herself she could flee at any moment!”

“But she has decided not to,” Daenerys reminded him.

“Khaleesi. This girl is dangerous. I've seen her fight in the Night battle myself. She lusts for blood. A girl that young -”

“You should remind yourself Ser Jorah, that I was a girl when you stepped into my service. Will you hold my age against me?”

Jorah stopped in his track and lowered his head in deference. Tyrion crossed his arms.

“No Khaleesi, forgive me.”

Daenerys leaned forward. “It is precisley because she is so young, a woman and skilled fighter that I want her to be my teacher. Jon Snow and I struck a bargain. I am indebted to him, as you all know. “

Everyone looked down. She knew she had not to remind them of what she meant and she felt Missandei step closer to her, as if to comfort her. Images of her Vyserion flashed through her mind, his body white and eyes blue, his ghostly shrieks; before she suppressed them with a shaking breath.  
Tyrion stepped forward.

“That may well be, your grace. But you could show Arya Stark mercy without making her your swords master. The girl is dangerous. She refuses to answer questions and she seems... unhinged.”

Daenerys thought of the storm grey eyes, the unsettling darkness that surrounded them. She thought of the exhaustion and flaring energy that the girl omitted, like a frightened powerful animal, that was trapped.

“Jon Snow said she is to be trusted”, she announced firmly. “Haven't you yourself declared him to be a trustworthy man, Lord Tyrion? I seem to recall you said you are a good judge of character.”

Tyrion smiled grimly.

“I knew him. I do not know her. I urge you, if you're looking to learn to handle a blade, make Ser Jorah your teacher. Someone we know. Someone we can be certain we can trust.” Ser Jorah nodded hopefully. Daenerys looked at her Hand kindly. She wanted to tell him that she could not trust a man hopelessly in love with her to be her teacher either, but she didn't. Instead she said: “Ser Jorah would teach me the only way he knows; as a knight. I need someone to teach me who knows what it is to fight as a woman. When one is small and underestimated. I hear your concerns, but my decision is made. But to put your minds at ease; Ser Jorah, you will supervise my first lesson with Lady Stark. And now I think you have more urgent tasks to turn your attention to. Please leave me. Missandei, stay.”

Ser Jorah bowed with anger and helpless worry, when he reluctantly left the room, Tyrion gave her a thoughtful look that she couldn't decipher.  
Daenerys closed her eyes briefly when she felt Missandei step even closer to her.

“Do you think I'm making a mistake, Missandei?”

Her friend hesitated.

“I think there is much we don't know about her, your grace. I think all she has known is fighting. But if you trust Lord Snow and Ser Jorah will watch over you... if you feel that she is the right teacher for you, then I will not worry.”

Daenerys thought for a moment, then turned to her.

“What did she look like? When she pressed that knife to your throat?”

Missandei's brow scrunched up in confusion.

“Your grace?”

“Did she look like she enjoyed the power? Did she look like she wanted to kill you?”

Missandei thought about that in earnest.

“She looked... calm your grace. Confident. But I don't think she wanted to kill me.”

Daenerys nodded and took her hand briefly.

“Be assured if she ever puts a knife to your throat again it will be the last time she puts her hand on one.”

Missandei smiled and lowered her head, squeezing her hand back.

+++

When Daenerys and Missandei entered the “cell” of Arya Stark, Daenerys froze at the entrance.

Arya Stark sat on a wooden stool, the upper part of her tunic undone, the healer standing behind her and re-wrapping the wound on her back. Under the bandage and the breast bindings Daenerys caught a glimpse at an expanse of sinewy muscle covered by pale white skin. Fading bruises littered the Stark woman's arms, scars and marks netted her sides and her well defined stomach was punctured by several round, angry scars.

Daenerys stared at them before she felt a gaze on her and looked up, meeting Arya Stark's grey inscrutable eyes. She swallowed.

“What caused these wounds?” she asked her straightforwardly. Before Arya could reply the healer – an old grumpy woman named Myrala – scowled at her queen.

“I do not treat patients with an audience”, she said sharply with a heavy Dornish accent, while pulling the bandage closed, making Arya wince. Daenerys' mouth opened slightly in shock. Arya looked at her with – was that a smirk?

Missandei was the first to gain her bearings back.

“You are speaking to the queen of Westeros, Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andal-”

“Yes, yes, I know who she is” the old healer waved her hand dismissively. “But your grace” - she tilted her head to a minimum - “How would you like to be examined with strangers watching you?”

The soldier who stood guard at the door stepped forward apologetically. “Pardon, your grace. The woman came with Lady Ellaria's forces -”

“It's quiet alright”, Daenerys silenced him, a spark in her eyes, and approached the blunt woman.

“I respect your regard for your patient, but I had hoped to hear your assessment from you in person. Is she fit to fight?”

The healer scoffed and gave the Stark woman a glare; Arya glared right back.

“This one is always fit to fight. If it were up to me I would bind her to a bed for a week more or so. But she might do even more damage to herself then, cause she will not remain there. So do give her something to do, otherwise she will just keep stealing my knifes.” She threw a blanket at Arya but then proceeded to wrap it gently around her shoulders. Arya blinked for a moment and looked from the queen to the healer.

“Thank you,” she mumbled so quietly Daenerys almost thought she imagined it. Myala mumbled something unintelligible, packed her things together and shuffled off, murmuring under her breath.

When the door closed Daenerys raised her eyebrows and looked at the Stark girl bemusedly.

“So the knife you threathened my handmaiden with came from your own healer?”

The Stark girl looked almost embarrassed, before she pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

“I didn't hurt her”, she said quietly. “I didn't want to hurt her.”

Daenerys stepped closer to the wounded girl before coming to a halt right in front of her.  
Arya Stark looked up at her and Daenerys let her eyes glide over her wounded torso again, before her eyes moved upwards.

“Where did you get these scars?”, she asked again. This time there was no room for argument in her voice.  
The same blank expression that she had worn during their first audience returned to Arya's face.

“From a girl that tried to kill me.”

“Why?”

“I never found out.”

Daenerys nodded slowly. “And what happened to her?”

A flicker of pain rippled through the Stark girl's mask, before it became intact again.

“She killed someone who cared about me. Then I killed her.”

Daenerys nodded again. “Missandei”, she called.

Missandei stepped forward and pulled a long object from her robe, wrapped in cloth, and handed it to the queen.  
Daenerys took it and held it out to Arya.

“Your gift to those that would harm you or the people you care about seems to be death. Let me make you a different gift.”

Arya stared at her, than at the object in her hands before she grabbed it hesitantly, before looking at the queen. When Daenerys nodded she slowly unwrapped the cloth and as the tiny sword came to view for a brief moment the young woman's face brightened immeasurably and she clutched the blade to her chest.

“I return your sword to you, Lady Stark. And now we will discuss where our lessons shall take place.”


	4. The Water Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was longer, but I had to split it into two because I will be travelling the next week and won't be able to write and I wanted to give you something before that. I made a cover though!

 

It was two days before Cersei's lying in state that Daenerys couldn't take meeting the endless amounts of lords, masters and their entourages in King's landing anymore. Nor could she even bare looking at another parchment or sitting in another council. She still felt the burning need and rush of taking on the birthright of her family, but at the same time a pressure like never before now weighted heavily down on her shoulders. Her army had to be settled in a foreign land to many. Ruins wanted to be rebuild, people fed. So one evening, she told Missandei to bring word to Arya Stark that they would begin her training a day early.

To say the mysterious young woman had been infuriating about the arrangements of these lessons would be an understatement. The Stark claimed she was confident of being able to make it to the location of their training undetected, but refused to share exactly how she would approach that endeavor. The only piece of the plan even the queen of Westeros was privy to, was that Arya insisted on Missandei hiring a particular young woman as a maid for one of the dustier parts of the Red Keep. She was a thin and shy young thing and how she would help cover the striking image of Arya Stark was a mystery to Daenerys. Even when she suspected the rumors that the younger Stark lady possessed the face-changing magic of Braavos might be true. Tyrion and Jorah disapproved of the secrecy nevertheless and it took Jon Snow personally vouching for his sister, that they agreed to it. Finally, it was agreed that Arya would enclose the location to Missandei and subsequently, the Queen of Westeros would indulge in a rare morning walk with her adviser Jorah the Andal.

They walked up the stone steps to the spires of The Red Keep in silence. Daenerys rarely allowed for them to be alone together, for while she knew he had no intentions of pursuing her, the knowledge of his feelings still made her unsure of how to reproach their relationship. But when she regarded his honest pensive face from the side, eyes ever watchful and hand on his sword, her gaze warmed. She had had few friends in her life; sometimes she thought he was the only one besides Missandei. It was cruel for both of them which turn his feelings had taken, but she was determined to rebuild the familiarity that had once existed between them.

“How do you feel, Ser Jorah? Home again at last?,” she asked and his shoulders tensed.

He thought for a moment before he replied. “It is good to smell pine trees again. To hear Westerosi songs.” He glanced at her quickly. “Have you ever read the books I gave you for your wedding gift?”

The words made her falter slightly. Wedding. She had been married once. The girl she had been seemed forever away, left in the sand of the great grass sea. When the image of her deceased husband came to her mind her heart clamped together, for she realized how long she hadn't thought of him; at the same time she was filled with longing, for that love. She had not felt it since.  
She looked down at herself. How ironic that for her training today she had donned Dothraki clothing for the first time in a long time also, for she and Missandei had deemed it the most practical she had for fighting.

“Not as much as I would have liked”, she answered when she realized Jorah was waiting for an answer. “So much has happened since then.”

“Indeed.”

They started climbing the last stairs to the Balconies beneath the spires.

“But perhaps, after my coronation, you could read me one of them?”, she asked quietly.

Jorah looked at her in shock, but also with cautious joy in his eyes. Then he bowed his head.

“If you wish so, your grace, it would be my honour.”

Daenerys smiled at him but before either of them could say more, they had reached the balcony and both stopped in their tracks.  
The balcony was beautiful, southern in its design, with slender pillars, entwined by wines and flowers, the sea a glorious blue backdrop to them. In its center Arya Stark moved flowingly with that small sword of hers, twirling and swishing it in the air, gliding from one movement into the next.  
Her dark hair was pulled back by two braids, and she wore a dark green tunic with a brown leather doublet above it.  
The loose hair and fabric whipped through the air as she circled into curious shapes, that looked too elegant to be called fighting.  
Jorah made to approach her but Daenerys stopped him with a raised hand.

“What is she doing?,” she asked in a low voice, as if not to disturb the spectacle before her.

“It's the fighting style of the Free Cities, what they call water dancing,” he answered, clearly dismissive. “Its quick but not effective with heavy armor.”

Daenerys nodded without taking her eyes of the fighter before her, drinking in the beautiful movements. It was not only the grace of Arya Stark's movements that mesmerized her but the changed air about her. She seemed free, the ever constant scowl on her face lifted, nothing in her stances betraying that until recently she had been bedridden. She remembered the look of pure joy when she had returned her sword to her and she had worried about the cause behind it. Was she truly the bloodthirsty creature Jorah painted her as, after seeing her in battle? Did she take joy from killing? Seeing her now, moving with ten times more grace than Daenerys had witnessed in any other fighter before, she didn't know what to think.

Finally, she stepped forward, Jorah following behind her.

“Good morning, Lady Arya.”

Arya, who had been in a stance on one knee, looked up at her, and effortlessly rose, her sword twirling one more time before she sheathed it.  
She bowed her head.

“My queen,” she said softly. Daenerys regarded her for a moment.

“You seem to have found your strength. I am glad.”

Arya nodded again before her gaze wandered to Jorah questioningly.

“Lady Arya, this is Ser Jorah Mormont,” Daenerys introduced them and the knight stepped forward and bowed his head briefly. “My Lady.”

Arya returned the gesture frowning.

“Your grace, learning the way of the sword is better done without an audience,” she remarked.

“I am aware. But considering the circumstances my council thought it best our first lesson is attended by Ser Jorah. I assure you, he will simply observe.”

Ser Jorah and Lady Arya looked equally displeased with this arrangement but Arya nodded her head in the direction of an alcove. “Sit over there”, she told Jorah calmly and the knight did so with clear reluctance after Daenerys gave him a stern look. Arya went to the the balustrade and picked up two wooden swords.  
Now that she saw them Daenerys found herself growing uncharacteristically nervous. She had risen to countless challenges through the last years, honing herself to become a conqueror, a ruler, a queen. But fighting was entirely new ground to her.

Arya stepped towards her and held both of the practice swords behind her back.

“Have you ever fought with a sword before, your grace?” Daenerys straightened her shoulders.

“I have fought in in many battles on the back of my dragons. But no. I have never fought with a sword.”

Arya nodded calmly, but Daenerys could see there was a gleam of respect in her eyes at her mention of her dragons.

“Yes, I've seen you in the Night battle. On the back of your dragon you will always be the strongest force in any battle. But I will teach you to defend yourself when they are not with you.”

With lightening speed she drew one of the wooden swords and threw it at Daenerys. The Targaryen could barely raise her hands before the heavy thing clattered next to her onto the ground.

She arched an eyebrow at the Stark woman.

“I wasn't ready,”, she reproached. Arya looked nonplussed.

“You have to be ready when an assassin comes for you. There will be no warning then. Pick it up.”

Daenerys' very core bristled at being given an order. But she had to remind herself that for the durance of their lessons the overconfident woman before her was in fact her master.

Without taking her eyes of the swords woman she knelt down to pick the wooden sword up, standing gracefully.

“Like you did to Cersei?”, she challenged.

Arya nodded. “Exactly like that.” She drew her own sword and put one leg up front, her other arm behind her back, her knees bend.

“Move your body side face my queen. Like this.”

Daenerys attempted to copy the stance of the slightly smaller woman before her, the wooden sword heavy in her hands.

“This is an insecure stand,” Ser Jorah's voice sounded suddenly from the alcove.

Daenerys looked at him. “Forgive me, your grace, but with this stance you will have no secure footing should an enemy attack you.”  
His big hands grasped the pommel of his sword tightly. Arya stepped around Daenerys and blocked her view of Jorah.

“In the Westeros way of fighting this is true”, she admitted, not sparing Jorah a glance. “But I am not teaching you the Westeros way of fighting, my queen. You are not made for it. You are small and light. Standing side face will make you a smaller target still. No, like this.”

She stepped behind Daenerys and lightly put a hand on her hip and left arm, correcting her stance. Daenerys could feel the warmth of her skin through the leather on her stomach. Arya moved away and before her again, taking the same stance.

“I will teach you the way the people of Braavos fight. The water dance.”

She started to approach Daenerys in quick strides, and the queen stepped back instinctivley.

“The men who will come to attack you will not be knights. The will come in the night and they will be swift. You have to react the same way and adapt. Like water.”

She lunged at Daenerys and the queen raised her sword to block it. Arya stood still in response and after a brief moment of hesitation Daenerys slashed at her with a small cry; but before her sword could reach her, Arya had whirled behind her. Disorientated, Daenerys turned around. Arya pointed to her hand. “You cannot grip the sword like an axe or a club. It must be delicate but balanced.” She threw her sword up and it landed perfectly balanced on three fingers of her outstretched left hand. “Like this.”

Daenerys let her arm drop, frustrated. “If I don't grip it, I will drop it by the first blow.”

Arya smiled slightly, and went into the strange, flowing fighting stance, her grey eyes sparkling.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes and gripped her sword again, this time trying to stab the Stark woman's side. But she whirled around her again, twirling in a blur and suddenly, Daenerys felt the wooden sword at her throat. Forced to lift her head and baring her throat Daenerys stared at Arya, breathing heavily.  
Arya held her gaze for a second – for a moment her eyes wandered to her glistening throat - then stepped back. Daenerys immediately tried to attack again, but Arya parried her blows easily. “Move your feet”, she said through the clashing of their swords.

“If you don't move your feet together with your hands you leave your body exposed.”

As if to prove her point Arya ducked under Daenerys' next strike and tackled her with her hip, catching her off balance. Daenerys fell hard onto her back, the cold stone of the ground pushing into her shoulders. Her eyebrows scrunched up and chest rising heavily she looked up at her teacher. Arya opened her mouth but before she could say anything Ser Jorah was at Daenerys' side, helping her up.

“Are you alright your grace?, ” he asked worriedly, pulling her to her feet.

“Yes”, she breathed, resisting the urge put a hand on her pounding back. Trying to calm her breathing she pushed back a few strands of her hair that had been fought loose and gripped her sword again, trying not to hold it too strongly.

“Go back to your seat, Ser Jorah.” He stepped close to her, his forehead creased by lines.

“Khaleesi, this is not the right way-”

“Do I have to repeat myself? You promised to observe, not to intercede. Go back to your seat.”

She moved passed him and into the stance Arya had shown her. Arya nodded at her with approval and somehow Daenerys realized, that it was something that mattered to her. The respect of the Stark woman they called the lone wolf.

They went at it again, Arya sometimes evading Daenerys' inexperienced attacks entirely, sometimes letting them happen, explaining and pointing in between. Sometimes, she stopped and touched Daenerys lightly, to correct her stance or grip. Even though these contacts were brief they felt both strange and exhilarating to Daenerys, for as queen she was almost never touched by anyone. Arya Stark did so with her usual lack of inhibition and it was oddly refreshing.  
Her arm burned and got heavier with every second and her chest constrained, her body not used to this kind of exertion. But after weeks of talking, paper work and never ending courtesies, the rough circling and movement was simply liberating. But the sword dance taking up all of her attention, she did not notice the familiar pulling in her inside, nor the call.

Just when she was sure she had an opening to Arya's side she lunged with all her remaining power. In the last second Arya turned her body and Daenerys stumbled to the ground. She landed on her hands, gasping for air. Arya stepped above her and held her wooden sword to her throat.

“Up, your grace,” she commanded softly.

It was then that a piercing shriek tore through the air. Arya whirled around. Wind was starting to flare up and suddenly Daenerys noticed the heavy pull of her dragon in her mind.

When she realized what was happening she tried desperately to communicate do Drogon that she was in no danger, but it was too late. From above, seemingly out of nowhere, Drogon shot down in all his might, flying close to the balcony and staring straight at Arya with his red glowing eyes, while flapping his wings. Arya stood frozen, staring right at her dragon. Daenerys could hear her taking in a shaking breath. Then Drogon opened his muzzle and let out an earth shattering scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Arya took Daenerys to the same balcony she first learned on with Syrio. I'm not crying, you're crying. Uhh the story is just starting :) I literally fend off sleep to write this before hopping on a plane in 4 hours, so dear readers: 76 of you follow this story but only so few of you comment. Those of you that do, thank you so much, it's such a reward for the long hours of writing. Let me know what you think of the chapter and the cover picture :)


	5. Chasing cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this was exhausting and I rewrote it again and again. There is so many details you have to be aware of when writing GOT and I wanted to get their interaction just right. At least this is extra long, enjoy!

 

_Arya had never known noise like this. Hundreds of swords clashing around her, hundreds and hundreds of men screaming, white walkers wailing. Her left arm burned as she cut of yet another head of the unnatural beings with her dagger, breathing heavily. For the first minutes of the fight she had been grinning, all of her hate and energy unleashing upon the army of the the dead, fighting at her brother's side. The shock on Jon's face when he saw her in battle for the first time, the pride and fear. The flush of forgotten warmth in her heart when they charged together at their enemies, fighting back to back._

_But then Jon had been hit and she saw blood on her brother's arm, running down in stark red onto the army of white in the unforgiving frost around them. Her armor was heavy and the opponents never seemed to ebb. “Where is the queen?”, several men screamed, fear creeping into their eyes._

_Arya looked at them in disgust. She was a quarter their age and she had learned her lesson. No one would come and save you. She could only rely on herself._

_But then a great shriek tore through he cold air and for a moment the movement of armies froze._

_Arya, Jon and their men turned to the mountains behind them, when the shrieks intensified._

_Then a blaze of fire erupted above, a deadly red and orange cone. And in it appeared the largest creature Arya had ever spotted; black and mudden scales shimmering in the air, giant wings cutting through the air and a mighty muzzle spewing out fire. Her heart stopped._

_The dragon descended on them with giant flaps of its wings, its roar deafening, the white walkers shrieking in response. And on the back of the mighty creature she could spot a woman, silver hair whipping around her, her face contorted in a scream. It was like the stories she had read again and again as a girl on cold lonely nights in Winterfell had come to life before her eyes._

_She knew she was looking at Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons._

 

Just as the first time Arya had layed eyes on a dragon she was struck by awe. But this time the creature was not high above her in the skies but right in front of her, its claws now crashing down onto the balustrade, the stone crackling beneath its talons. The air was flimmering around it with its heath. It roared once again at her, wings and spikes flaring as spit flew into her face and the glowing eyes locked onto hers. She was mesmerized. She knew that glowing from cooler orbs. It was like when she had looked into Nymeria's eyes deep in the North forest, the same ancient elemental kind of soul. She could feel her eyes sting.

Then, the dragon set its mighty head back, its belly widening and she knew instinctively what was coming.

She started to extend her arms.

“DROGON!”

And just liked the queen had thrown her body in front of hers, silver hair pushing into Arya's face and slender arms pressing her protectively behind a slender body.

Arya's heart constricted again.

 _“She is not my enemy!”_ Daenerys Targaryen shouted at her dragon in High Valyrian. The dragon – Drogon his name, apparently – stopped the intake of his fiery breath and made a confused sound at the queen. His ember-like eyes looked onto Arya again, roaring at her menacingly. Arya felt determination and thrill running through her fear, burning brightly.

The queen held up her hands at the dragon in a placatory gesture.

“Drogon-”

_“I am not your mother's enemy.”_

With a wild beating heart Arya escaped the waft of silver hair and the proximity of the queens body and stepped beside her, facing the dragon yet again. The Targaryen looked at her in shock, shaking her head in warning. Arya looked into the violet eyes, mysterious and elemental as the dragon's, before turning to Drogon again.

She let the practice sword fall to the floor and tried to keep her gaze on him, though it felt as if her eyes were burning, threatening to melt.

 _“I'm not your mother's enemy,”_ she repeated in Valyrian, trying to lay a conviction into her voice that belied the doubts she still had about the queen.

_“I do not want to harm her. I'm serving her. I'm teaching her to protect herself, when you cannot.”_

Drogon shifted his giant feet on the balustrade and crooked his head at her. A softer, though still warning noise escaped his muzzle. Arya took a shaking breath, holding his gaze.

Drogon flapped his wings, pushing wind onto them, and his muzzle clapped shut.

Carefully the queen moved next to her, approaching him.

Arya watched with wide eyes as she raised her soft hand and touched his muzzle. When Drogon made a satisfied sound she proceeded to stroke it with a gentleness that jarred Arya even more.

 _“I'm learning to fight,”_ she whispered in a voice so loving, so different from her regal tone, that Arya barely even recognized it. _“I'm learning to fight like you.”_ Drogon made a rattling sound, shaking his body. Vaguely, Arya registered that Jorah had stepped behind her.

Daenerys looked over her shoulder at Arya, her eyes intense and questioning. Bringing her other hand to Drogon's muzzle, she caressed it gently before muttering: “ _Vla._ ”

And just like, after throwing a last shriek at Arya, Drogon lifted of the balcony, plunging into the depth before rising and quickly disappearing on the horizon.

All three humans looked after him, the balcony now eeringly quiet; the birds all having taken flight. Below them they could hear excited and worried murmurs, castle folk driven out by the dragon's screams. Slowly, Arya moved her eyes from the mythical creature on the horizon and shifted them onto the now lonely seeming figure of the queen.

Daenerys, still looking at her over her shoulder, now turned her body towards her as well.

Arya swallowed. “He senses when you are in danger.” It wasn't a question. Daenerys regarded her for a while, then nodded. _So these ancient mighty creatures truly thought of the small woman before her as their mother,_ the Stark thought in awe.

The queen folded her hands before her. “That was reckless of you. My dragons are not pets; they do not always share my wishes and Drogon thought you wanted to hurt me.”

“That's what it looked like,” Arya answered easily. “I had to prove him the truth.”

The queen seemed taken aback at that. Her full lips opened slightly and as so often Arya found herself transfixed by them. The image of Daenerys' glistening throat inches before her reaperead before her mind and she swallowed.

“I think there is something you should see.”

Daenerys straightened her frame.

“And what is that?”

Arya's eyes wandered to Jorah for the first time since they had greeted. He looked at her attentively, suspiciously. She could tell he disliked her. She returned the sentiment. She had not forgotten the name of his house, Vassals to her own. Everyone knew the story of the disgraced slaver of House Mormont. She did not intend to ignore her knowledge forever.

“Below the Reed Keep, in the catacombs... there is something your family left behind.”

Daenerys stepped closer to her, wariness in her eyes.

“And what would that be?” Her voice had returned to the regal tone Arya had first learned.

Her eyes flickering to Jorah again, the Stark switched to Valyrian.

“The skulls of your family's dragons”, she spoke softly.

Daenerys' eyes widened, though the wariness remained.

“Surely... I would have been informed, if there were dragon skulls beneath my keep.”

“I do not think many are aware of the deep parts of your keep, your grace.”

“But you are?”

It felt like they were sparring again. Once again the queen had put her in a position were she was forced to reveal something of her. Or had she done it herself? She decided the information now required was harmless, even though it stung. She masked her face before she spoke.

“When I was here as a child, I chased a cat into the deep parts of the catacombs. That's how I discovered them. “

Daenerys raised her eyebrows.

“You found the skull of a dragon chasing cats?”, she repeated dryly.

Arya set her chin back. “To study their movements. It will be part of your training as well.”

The queen's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.

“You want me to chase _cats_?”

“Your grace”, Jorah stepped in right at this moment. “Your dragon will have attracted a lot of attention. It would be wise to have this conversation somewhere else.”

The queen didn't remove her intense gaze from Arya.

“Show me the disguise you used to come here,” she said finally in the common tongue.

Arya felt alarm but forced her face to remain calm.

“We agreed that -”

“Enough of the secrecy,” Daenerys interrupted her sharply.

“I have granted you trust and goodwill despite of what you have done, I disregarded the council of my advisers. It is time you did something in return.”

Arya coiled inertly. It was much more difficult to uphold her calm mask with the queen. But Daenerys Targaryen's eyes didn't match her voice. They were imploring but held the same gentleness she remembered from when she had lain in a bed and the queen had washed the sweat from her forehead. Unbiddingly, Arya thought of how the silver haired woman had stood before her protectively and without hesitation.

The rumors about her had already begun spreading. When the Frey's widow did her bidding and told everyone that the north remembered, she had also told them of the girl with grey eyes who had appeared from her husbands form and had slain the entire house. Sooner or later these stories would reach Daenerys Targaryen. Exaggerated and charged versions.

Slowly, she turned her back to the queen, reached into her doublet and grabbed the face of the girl in which form she had killed the Freys in. The new maid of the Red Keep.

With a deep breath, she slipped it on and felt her body soften, the features of her face changing painfully. Then she turned around. Ser Jorah gasped, recoiling from her, wheras Daenerys remained collected, confirmation simmering in her eyes.

“Can you assume any face you wish?”, she asked eventually.

Arya shook her head. “No”, she spoke in the girl's voice, “Only a select few.” That was as much of the truth as she was willing to part with. Daenerys nodded , then switched into Valyrian again.

_“Where is the entrance to this part of the catacombs that you speak of?”_

Realizing the queen purposefully left her adviser out of this fro now Arya suppressed the urge to grin.

 _“The gray corridor by the kitchens”,_ she answered neutrally.

_“Meet me there by nightfall.”_

With that she turned around, Ser Jorah, clearly taken aback, was slow to follow her, walking backwards, casting a dark and warning look her way. And Arya knew that she would hear from him yet.

 

+++

 

The kitchen corridors were deserted when sunlight switched to moonlight on King's landing's sky.

Kitchen boys sneaked out with rests of wine hidden under their tunics and people of all ranks slipped out to meet their paramours in secret. When two figures in cloaks walked into to the western corridor, nobody passing thought them something else.

It felt good to Daenerys, walking unrecognized for once among her people. She watched them with interest from beneath her hood, all the way feeling Jorah's cold unrest and distrust beside her.

She understood his concerns. It was a risk to move into unknown parts of the Keep with only one knight as her protection. But hours before on that balcony she had seen Arya Stark's face for the first time when she had looked at her dragon; and she had seen awe. Tomorrow she would address her people for the first time. She knew many of them viewed her as a foreign invader. Sometimes the very same though gnawed at her mind. She needed something beyond the history books to remind her that it was her ancestors who build this keep, that she descended from them. If Arya Stark was the person who could give her this, so be it.

When they turned into the agreed corner no one was to be seen at first, but as soon as they stopped a shadow emerged from a giant old tapestry and a hand beckoned them in. Daenerys could not help but smile; it was as in a ghost story.

After quickly looking around she and Jorah stepped behind the tapestry, just to find themselves on the top of a giant moldy staircase.

Before them stood the kitchen maid, a torch in her hand, standing shy, feminine and obedient. Nothing like the lone wolf that Daenerys now knew was inside.

She stepped before her slowly. “Show me your true face.”

The girl made to turn but Daenerys touched her arm and shook her head.

The girl startled, her face remaining blank. Finally, her hands went to her temples and to Daenerys' horror, she started to... pull off her face.

Not suddenly but like in a quick blur, the girl before her changed into Arya Stark, her body suddenly strong and controlled, intense gray eyes looking up at her.

“This is dark magic”, Jorah growled and Daenerys' eyes wandered to the actual shape of a face in the hand of the Stark before her.

“Magic is magic, like a sword is a sword”, Arya retorted to him. “What matters is how you use it.”

She let the face disappear into her robes and looked at Daenerys challengingly.

Daenerys swallowed her questions once more.

“We will talk about this another time. You promised you had something to show me.”

Arya nodded and without another word turned around and started to descend the slippery stairs.

Daenerys followed, Jorah only after drawing his sword.

Arya Stark moved in the darkness like it was daylight, quick and unhindered. Daenerys and Jorah followed more slowly. Daenerys imagined they would have to walk for a long time, but when they reached the end of the second staircase and turned the corner her heart stopped.

There, in the flickery light of torches lay a dragon's skull. It was bigger than her, bigger than Jorah, bigger then even Drogon's head was now. The bone was still marble white beneath the dust, untouched by time. With powerful, unstoppable force images of Viserion flashed before Daenerys' mind, of his first death, of how he flew before her, white and ghostly, the Night King on his back. His second death by Jon Stark, mercy to her child, but as cruel as the first time she had watched him die before her.

This time Daenerys could not hold back the tears filling her eyes. Shaking with the effort not to openly cry, she descended the last steps to join Arya Stark, who stood quietly next to the skull, watching her attentively. She could see that more skulls lay on the corridor, all under layers upon layers of dust.

Finally, Daenerys reached out her hand and touched the skull nearest to her, slowly spreading her fingers. The bone was cold and dirty beneath her skin and she took in a shuddering breath. Here lay the dragons of her family. The loyal companions of generations of Targaryens, thrown into dust, to be forgotten.

“The skulls of the Targaryien's dragons”, she heard Jorah say behind her reverential.

“Your father once decorated the throne hall with them. No one knew what Robert had done with them.”

Daenerys let her eyes glide over all of the skulls, fighting her grief and also that sentiment that had hunted her since she was a little girl; the longing for home.

Knowing Arya was watching she desperately fought for her composure.

“You found them here when you were a child?”, she asked, her voice breaking, just saying anything to keep herself from crying.

“Yes. I found them shortly before my father was arrested for treason, when all he wanted was to keep Joffrey from ascending a throne that wasn't his.”

Arya Stark's answer was in a voice so quiet and vulnerable, Daenerys' head shut up.

The Stark's gray eyes were fixed on the dragon skull beneath her hand, her eyes and voice drenched in pain and anger.

“I hid in this skull when I heard men coming”, Arya continued, seemingly forgetting herself in memories. “Men who were plotting his death.”

Daenerys looked at her through her tears, trying to imagine how she crawled into the skull beneath her hands. “How old were you?,” she asked. Arya Starks' eyes briefly went to her before looking away.

“Twelve.”

Daenerys felt her heart sting at this.

“You loved your father”, she said softly. It was a statement, not a question. Arya Stark's eyes met hers again at that, first shocked than clearly trying to choke down her emotion.

“I will find out who else but Cersei was involved in his death”, she replied in deflection, “Who these men were.”

Daenerys exchanged a glance with Jorah, who looked guilty. She knew of his betrayal to Arya's father and while she still didn't grasp the entire complexity of the complot against Lord Stark, she knew Varys must have been involved. She looked back at the young Stark.

“By all reports that reached me, Lord Eddard Stark was an honourable man. He was involved in the rebellion on my father, which was an dishonourrable thing, for he was his king. But my father was a mad man, disloyal to his duty to protect and lead his people well. These matters are complicated. You must look deeper than your own personal involvement Lady Stark, and you are no executioner. “

Throughout her lecture Arya Stark held her gaze. Those eyes that held rage and sadness that Daenerys couldn't fathom.

“Where did you go, when you dissapeared?”, she asked when it was clear Arya would not reply.

Arya broke their gaze, watching the floor.

“Ser Jorah, please return to the top of the stairs and wait there for me.”

Without looking at him she could hear the reluctant way in which he moved, waiting until he was out of hearing reach.

Then she walked closer to the lone wolf, who looked even smaller by the grand skull next to her.

“My family was annihilated by Robert and his rebellion. I never knew my father. All I know is that he was a mad and cruel man, like my brother, who was all the family I ever knew when my mother died after my birth. He traded me like cattle to a man who only by good fortune I came to love. He and my son were taken from me. Then I became the mother of three dragons, the first this world has seen in decades. They are the only family I have known since.” Again she put a hand on the dragon skull staring into nothing.

“And the Night King took one of them. I do not know what it feels like to loose a mother or a father, because I have never known my parents. But I do understand what it means to loose a child and a husband. And I can promise you: revenge won't heal that pain completely.”

For a moment there was only silence between them, the flickering of flames on their faces. It was oddly companionable. When Arya addressed her again, she sounded young and lost.

“What was the dragon's name? The one you lost in battle.”

Daenerys steeled herself. “Viserion.”

A light flickered through Arya's troubled eyes.

“After Visenya Targaryen?”

Daenerys looked at her in surprise.

“You are familiar with my family's history?”

“I-” Arya hesitated, almost shy. “I read a lot about the Targaryens in Winterfell as a child. The Targaryien women who would fight on their dragons. Like you.”

The Stark woman looked so uncomfortable and unsure, Daenerys wondered when the last time was she had opened up to anyone.

“I also heard great tales of my ancestor Visenya. But my dragon was named after my brother Viserys.”

Arya looked up at her with a frown.

“But you said he mistreated you?”

“He did. But he was also my brother and the sole reason I reached adulthood.”

Arya's frown deepened and Daenerys smiled at her.

“Viserys was cruel and a coward. But he provided for me when I was a child. He did it badly but he did. I cannot forget that anymore than the horrors he has committed. Did you never have a person in your life who did you both good and wrong?”

Arya hesitated for a moment, then she gave a barely perceptible nod.

“You were blessed with a better brother than I. And he relived Viserion from his undead existence. For that I owe him a debt.”

Arya's eyes wandered to the dragon skull and they got a longing in them now.

“My father... before we left Winterfell he found a dead direwolf in the woods, with six cubs barely living. He gave them to me and my siblings to raise. I named mine Nymeria.”

  
“After the warrior queen of Dorne?”

“Yes.”

Daenerys thought back to the bravery Arya had displayed in front of Drogon.

“What happened to her?,”she asked, geniunly curious.

“When the Lannisters came to Winterfell, Joffrey hurt my friend. When I stopped him and he threatened to kill me, Nymeria saved me and bit him. I had to let her go into the woods, otherwise they would have killed her. They killed Lady, my sister's direwolf in her stead. She just appeared, like she had known I was in danger. Like your dragon.”

Grey eyes looked up into violet ones and Daenerys couldn't help but feel how something shifted between them. With her large eyes, small and heart shaped face and feral grace, Arya Stark resembled a wolf herself.

“Do you dream of your dragons?”, Arya asked, her voice almost longing.

“No,” Daenerys answered. “But I feel them inside of me.”

Daenerys stared into Arya Stark's eyes some more, then she recoiled, suddenly feeling too open, too raw and familiar.

She took a step back.

“When Cersei's trial is over I will work on restoring your father's name, I promise you that. But I must return to the matter at hand now.”

Arya also took a step back and her face at once morphed into the emotionless mask Daenerys had first come to know. She couldn't help but wish for the face she had seen in the past moments, now it was gone.

“Thank you for showing me this, Lady Arya.”

To Daenerys' surprise Arya bowed her head.

They ascended the stairs together, where a nervous looking Jorah waited for them.

They said their goodbyes quietly and this time, with her back turned again, Arya changed into the maid once more, dissapearing into the night. Watching after her, Daenerys pulled her hood over her face.

“I want these skulls brought back into the keep and cleaned.”

Jorah nodded. “And restored to the throne hall your grace?”

“No. Find another hall for them. And I want you to inquire about the faceless men of Bravos at once. I want to know everything there is to know about them.”

 

 


	6. Her queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it finally is! Apart from working so much I needed to figure out where I wanted to take this story but now I have a battle plan :) Enjoy and do let me know what you think!

 

Daenerys woke slowly from a fitful sleep, full of dragon skulls and angry masses shouting at her.

In the in between space of the unconscious and the beckoning living world she saw dead faces, of those she killed, of those she hadn't, some that stood alive by her side. And between the fire she was aware of two things only: the soft face of her son, as she had seen him in the house of the Undying and the feel of the gaze of two burning grey eyes. And an ominous voice, whispering:

_To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow"_

“Your grace!”, a voice tore through her fevered dreams and she opened her eyes to the worried face of Missandei, the touch of her hands cool on her arms. She gazed at her friend in a daze, her chest heaving.

“Are you alright, your grace?”, Missandei asked, bringing a hand to her sweat stained face.

Daenerys closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe in deeply, to calm down.

“Bad dreams”, she answered in Valyrian. She started to move and immediately grimaced; her muscles were sore and hard, aching from her shoulder through her arm and into her legs. The unacosumted movement from her training with Arya Stark was taking its toll. Groaning she sat up, while Missandei was starting to prepare her a bath.

“Why didn't you caution me that it would be an ill idea to start my training the day before I give my first speech to the seven kingdoms?”, she asked Missandei, slouching in such a pitiful manner that she would only ever Missandei allow to see. Her handmaiden gave her a sympathetic smile.

“You were adamant, your grace. I have never trained a day in my live like you have yesterday. I couldn't have known.”

Daenerys nodded in a self berating manner and stood up groaning. While Missandei removed her nightgown she thought of the night before, of Targaryens and Starks and the never ending blackness of the wholes in the dragon's skulls, were once eyes were, and grey ones, alive and lost and burning into her own.

“How did you find your training, your grace?”

Daenerys didn't meet her handmaiden's eyes; she stood naked before her like every day and yet for the first time she felt exposed at her friend's all to deep seeing eyes.

“She is a master of the sword. And well read, despite off all the years she has been gone from here.”

Missandei folded her her night gown neatly and Daenerys allowed only briefly for their gazes to meet.

“She knows the history of my family.”

Missandei looked bewildered. “How did you learn this, when she was teaching you sword play?”

She bound her long silver hair back gently and Daenerys' eyes wandered off into nothing.

Restless and frustrated of her lack of knowledge, and the blood pumping heavy in her veins from her eventful day with Arya Stark she had sat with Tyrion and Varys until late into the night, demanding to be finally explained the complicated history of the Starks in detail, trusting that the Lannister would keep Varys in check of leaving out any unpleasant details. Then she had called Jon Snow in and let him further elaborate on what he knew of their families history.

When she learned the sad tale in its completion she couldn't help but wander back to the sad lonely eyes of Arya Stark, when she told her of her father. She wondered how different things would have been, if Ned Stark was alive. Would she ever become queen? If she had, what an ally he would have made. The Starks and the Targaryiens combined at their height... she though of her brother Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. To her surprise she learned that Arya was said to greatly reassemble her aunt in both looks and character. And surely, she had studied a drawing made of Lyanna given to her reluctantly by Jon for maybe an inappropriate amount of time; the young woman shared the same wolf shaped face as her young teacher, the same determined gray eyes and the same wild beauty. But Daenerys found that the long gone Stark int his drawing at least lacked the intelligence she saw so evident in Arya's face. She gently traced the drawing and wondered at Varys' words, who had concluded that it was essentially Rhaegear's and Lyanna's quiet selfish elopement that caused Robert's rebellion and the death of thousands, among them them almost her entire family.

She struggled with that fact greatly. She had always longed to have known her older brother, believing herself to be alike him. To have kindness and the good fortune of her people at heart. She still believed it. She remembered Sir Barristan telling her of his singing exploits with the common people, his love for singing.

But he should have known the consequences of his and Lyanna's careless actions.

Thousands died and Daenerys had tot think of the consequences of decisions she herself had claimed to be in the name of love.

Missandei, as if sensing her mistress was yet in her own world, guided her gently into the bronze bath basin. Daenerys looked at her when she lowered herself into he hot water.

“She met Drogon”, she found herself saying suddenly, “He roared right at her face and she did not flinch. She spoke to him in Valyrian.”

Missandei halted in her movements and looked at her with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.

“Did she learn it in Bravos”; she pondered carefully.

Daenerys couldn't help but smile.

“I learned a lot last night.” And she told her, of her lessons with Arya, the masterfullness of the girl with a sword and her fearlessness in face of her dragon. She told her of the Targayren skulls and the true history of Robert's rebellion, the true history of Rheagar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark and their son, Jon Snow.

“She is dangerous”, Daenerys concluded, as she closed her eyes when Missandei washed her face. “She could kill me where I stand and yet I have followed her into an unknown place at night, with no one but one man for protection.”

“You care for her.”

Daenerys' eyes flew open to meet Missandei's sympathetic eyes. She chose her next word carefully.

“I feel sympathy for her. She was twelve years old when pure horror befell her and her family. She is a faceless man, the gods know what happened to her in between. She fought for me in the Night battle and I am in the debt of her brother.”

Missandei nodded slowly.

“As you said, your grace; she killed Cersei Lannister and you showed her mercy. She threatened me and you still decided to trust her. You followed her into he catacombs and you protected her from your own dragon. Your grace.. I have seen you trust in your instincts many times. It is not absurd to see a soul that has suffered and to still recognize the light.”

Daenerys looked and her both touched and deeply worried.

“It is absurd when in my position. And I still do not know if she bears any true belief in me. She gives little away.”

Missandei smiled.

“From what I heard from her healer she seems to have shared more with you than with her own siblings.”

Daenerys looked at her in surprise.

“That woman talks to you?”

Missandei laughed. “I believe she concluded if I inquired about the health of the patient that threatened to kill me, that my motives must be genuine.”

“Indeed. She hasn't received her siblings?”

“Both her and the guards say that their conversations are brief.”

Daenerys leaned back in the hot water and thought back to her conversation with Arya Starks brother, her nephew, as strange as it still was to think of him that way.

When she had finally let the exhausted men go, Jon had stayed behind, to reassure her of her righteousness and they would atone together for their ancestors faults. He had inquired after his sister and even thanked her for giving her a new purpose.

He always created paradox feelings in her. On the one hand there was the gratefulness, for his aid in her getting the throne, ending the winter king and for relieving Vyserion of bis undead fate. On the other hand he was the one Vyserion had died for, when she came to his aid. He was the one killed him again. She tried to look at him with logic, but the resentment remained often. And when she was truly honest with herself, she feared his status of the proudtuct of Starks and Tragaryens,as someone who grew up in Westeros. She told Missandei the same.

“Jon Snow has spent his entire life in Westeros. He could still try to claim the throne. Maybe the people would like him better.”

Missandei began to gently trail a cloth over skin, cleaning as much as comforting her.

“Jon Snow is a good man but he made it clear he supports you. I've seen you free and change entire kingdoms. He is not the kind of man who could do this, who would want to do this.

You will bring more peace to Westeros than it has ever seen. I know it.”

She locked her dark eyes with Daenerys and the Targaryen felt her eyes fill with tears at gratitude at her truest friend and her doubts.

“You' re not your family, Daenerys”, Missandei said firmly. It was very rare she dared use her real name and it touched Daenerys at her core.

“Whatever the choices of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyana Stark and whatever your choice, it all came to you being on this throne, and I believe this is what was supposed to happen.”

She smiled and squeezed Daenerys arms and Daenerys reached over to the edge of the basin and hugged her friend closely. Then she stood straight and asked her to dress her.

 

+++

 

Arya roamed the streets of King's Landing with the face of the servant, trying to stay focused and not to sink into old memories. Her guard gave her no more trouble after she had informed him calmly with a blade to his face that she would kill him and his entire family if he ran and reported her. The young man seemed sufficiently convinced. Now, whenever she slipped out in the face of the servant he avoided her eyes and informed her if there were other guards around. It bothered her, that she had to theathen him. In a way it never had in her time with the House of Black and White.

But since the many faced god had decided it wasn't yet her time, and she found herself responsible for a family again, she could not let them down a second time. Daenerys Targaryen impressed her. She had seen the mightiest creatures of the seven kingdoms bid her calling and she had seen a gentler heart than that of Cersei or any king or queen she had met before. She could unsettle her, bring her walls down and Arya had to respect that. She was a fighter, in her own right. Arya was intrigued. But her position in her new realm was yet fragile, not at least to her own doing. She refused to think she acted out of guilt. She had a responsibility to her family, which was now tied to the Queen of the Iron throne and she would not let fate have the same way with them as the last time they were tied to the throne.

Wrapped in a dirty cloak she wandered the merchants businesses, listening to their talk, giving pretty smiles or making herself invisible at a table siting behind men and women talking.

The death of Cersei was the most talked about matter.

A worrying amount of people were assured Daenerys killed her herself, and despite hatred for Cersei the notion of the Targaryen as a foreign invader and the daughter of the Mad king was a strong one. The taverns and streets were buzzing and full. Many people had come to King's landing, to witness the first speech of their new ruler and her coronation. Or at least to witness the festivities and excitements or intrigues that came with them.

At noon she rode her horse to the Inn at the crossing were Hot Pie still resided. She had changed her face to that of a middle aged, unassuming man and sat in a corner, watching her friend serve a group of old men his pies, praising them and laughing. She felt herself smile. A part of her longed to talk to him. But she knew she couldn't, for the same reasons she still felt she couldn't talk to her own siblings. The person they knew was gone.. or at least too confused to know who she was any longer.

Jon and Sansa were to depart for Winterfell after the queen's coronation if Sansa's letter was to be believed and she knew she had to talk to them before.

She both dreaded and longed for it. Sighing, she took a big sip of her ale and begin to pull on her cloak. It was high time she made way for King's Landing again, if she wanted to witness Daenerys' speech. She paid the Tavern lady and, throwing one last look at Hot Pie's round figure, she exited the tavern, mounting her horse quickly. Half an hour later she had entered Beirnwood, the last piece of forest before Kings Landing. It was a detour, however, with the main streets clogged by all the people coming for the speech Beirnwood would bring her faster to her goal, for there was some folk loom or other telling a dark story about the forest , that made most travelers wary of it.

In the quiet of the still snow strained trees she closed her eyes for a moment and a took a deep breath. She relished in the quiet of nature, relished being free of the confines of the city and her “cell”.

As it happened before, thoughts of Drogon and his mother entered her head. Dreamily she thought of his glowing eyes. Meeting the mighty creature had been so much more than seeing them in battle. She had learned dark magic in Braavos and learned and read of magic's origin in dragons. But now that she had looked one in the eye she truly understood. She had looked into the ancient world in those eyes. An ancient creature, bowing to a small woman. She smiled, just as her horse neighed.

She leaned forward, patting it on its neck. Here in the forsaken forest she dared to change her face from the middle aged man into that of the female servant. She tore his face of and blinked the sting away, enjoying the touch of wind on her real face. And just in this brief moment of reprieve, a voice appear out of nowhere:

“You enjoy being yourself again, Arya Stark.”

Quicker than she had opened her eyes Arya drew her Valyrian Steel dagger. In front of her, on an auburn stallion, sat a woman, her face concealed in cloth and a veil out of metal.

“Who are you?”, she demanded. The woman calmly steered her horse closer to her.

“I am no-one, like you used to want to become.” Her voice was deep and hypnotizing.

Arya's heart was racing. She raised her dagger.

“How do you know me?”

The woman stopped short in front of her. The masking of her face allowed Arya only to see her eyes, large and dark, that watched her attentively.

“I am not with the House of Black and White, as you fear. I serve another god than you. But you have chosen a new mistress. One you have not chosen out of Revenge.”

Arya's eyes narrowed. Her mind raced.

“Do you serve the Lord of Light?”

She could see that woman smiled by her eyes. “You have reason to hate Melissandre and yet you let her live, so your cousin could, too. The one you call brother.”

So she knew even of what only Arya herself knew. Of her encounter with Melissandre and the deal they had struck after the great battle, to keep Jon alive. Arya bared her teeth. “Stop speaking in riddles. You can see my past and there is something you want. So spit it out.”

The woman nodded. “You now serve the mother of dragons. She has reached the aim she thought and is farer from her true calling than she has ever been. Those who lust for her power are circling and her biggest enemy reveals herself just yet. To succeed she will need to find what she has lost and what she thought has gone, but never left. You, Arya Stark of Winterfell, will bring it to her.”

Arya furrowed her brow. “I serve my family and myself. I had no choice but to serve Daenerys Targaryen. Why would I go out to seek something for her?”

“For the very reason you stated... and a purpose you will soon realize.”

Arya's horse moved uneasily. She tightened he hold on the reigns.

“I suggest if you want something from me, you speak it plainly. What is it that you want, and what is your interest in the queen?”

Melissandre took up the reigns of her horse, which stood unnaturally quiet.

“Your queen needs you now. You should ride fast, to be at her side when she does appear among the many. The mother of dragons will make you see your role, as you will make her see hers.”

With that she pulled her reigns and her auburn horse went into a swift trab.

Arya whirled around helplessly.

“Tell me your name!”, she called after the woman. But she only dissapeared faster. Arya could have

turned her horse and followed her. She could have thrown her dagger after her. But a scorching dread for an imminence for Daenerys and in accordance for her family she now felt, meant she needed to choose. With a last hateful look at the woman she screamed at her horse, pushing it into a gallop heading for King's Landing.

 

 

++

 

“Your grace, I think it would be best, if at least one of your dragons was present”, Grey Worm urged again, his forehead layed into furrows. Missandei, standing behind him, looked even more worried.

Varys, Jorah and Tyrion had brought forward the same concern.

Daenerys raised her head.

“These are not Dothraki or Unsullied I am addressing. The people from Westeros fear my dragons. Anyone here respecting me solely for them, does not respect me at all, but fears me. I will not rule by fear. I must do this speech on my own, as one of my own people. And I trust in your protection, Grey Worm.” The Unsullied bowed his head. They were standing at the gate of the Red Keep, ready to face the mass waiting outside, their sounds and screams audible since two hours.

Grew Worm and Jorah had strategically laced soldiers incognito among them, Unsullied were waiting on the spires with drawn bows. Tyrion stepped forward and looked up at from beneath scrunched eyebrows. “Good luck, your grace”, he said quietly. The queen nodded at him. She knew that he still doubted her. His concerns at her way of falling into Westeros not yet forgotten, his doubts she may just be as her father not erased. She was determined to prove him and Westeros wrong. Daenerys turned to the noise, her heart beating wildly, but she let her face betray nothing. She was Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, breaker of Chains and mother of dragons. She would earn her other newly gained titles in her own right. She smoothed out her blue and gray robes, straightened the silver dragon chain holding her red coat.

“Open the gate.”

 

+++

 

It was as though Arya were twelve years again and watching the execution of her own father. Staring down from the very same statue, yet in a different face.

She stared down at the white and dead face of Cersei Lannister, lied in state. She had seen so many dead faces, the tracks of their burdens and character often erased from their features. Yet she believed she could still see the menace in the Lannister face, the woman who had started the downfall and deaths of her family.

Here she was again, at the yard in front of the great Sept of Baelor, only the sept was no more; Cersei Lannister had destroyed it together with countless people, no doubt without shedding so much as one tear, even though it ultimately took her final son as well. Like she had taken her fathers life. But she hadn't known that she sealed her own fate that very day. Even when she regretted the consequences of her act; now, sitting where once she crouched helplessly as her father died, it was the only thing that kept Arya together, that she had avenged his death. Loud calls and other sudden eruptions of noise announced the arrival of the Queen from the Red Keep. Mounted soldiers dashed into the yard, followed by Unsullied. The Dothraki were nowhere to be seen. Smart, Arya thought admiringly; their presence would have only enforced the crowd's picture of Daenerys as a foreign invader. And then the queen herself appeared, mounted on a horse, not a dragon. She was flanked by Ser Jorah Mormont, Grey Worm the Unsullied , Tyrion Lannister and her siblings. She was upset at their being there, she hadn't anticipated them being so close to the Daenerys, bringing themselves into danger as well.

Daenerys' white blond hair seemed to catch all the sunlight in the yard. Some people cheered loudly as she arrived and dismounted, others gave calls of dissatisfaction, though noone dared to the scream the insults Arya had heard for the past half hour before the queen's arrival.

Slowly and dignified Daenerys climbed the stairs to the elevated platform that had been erected where once the sept stood. Then she stood in front of her people, her head held high, her eyes burning. She is so small, Arya thought suddenly, almost shocked by the realization. Indeed, Daenerys Targayren was short; but her poise emanated grace and passion and had Arya seen her for the first time, she would have been convinced immediately that this was a queen.

“People of Westeros!” Daenerys' voice resounded over the yard, loud and clearly.

“I know what Cersei Lannister has told you: that I am a foreign invader, who came here for one reason alone: to take the throne and bring back the reign of terror my father has brought upon this land. But Cersei Lannister has brought nothing but new terror long before I stepped food into this city that my ancestors build. She brought religious fanatics to the throne. She destroyed the great Houses of Stark and Tyrell without mercy, she destroyed her own children, who became victims in her merciless skeems in her quest for power. And when it was time to answer for her crimes, she wouldn't face justice like a true queen would. She cowardly drank nightshade and took her own life.”

Arya watched the people closely as she spoke, seeing attentive yet grim faces a many. She tried not feel anything when the lie of Cersei's death was spoken.

Daenerys stepped forward.

“It is true; I was born in Westeros but lived my whole live in Essos. I moved from one barbaric culture to the other. From the nomadic tribes of the Dothraki to the slave cities of Mereen. I walked down the the walk of punishment where hundreds of slaves, women and children, were hung up and nailed to wood, for daring to refuse their masters. I brought them all down and hung them instead. I freed the slaves of Meeren and Astapor and became the breaker of chains. I brought down the murderous Khals of the velds and became Khal of all tribes. And when I had seized power in Essos.. I chose to leave.”

A surprised whisper went to the crowd. Arya for her part now hang onto the queen's lips.

“I left the cities of Astapor and Mereen under the control of self elected councils of wise men that report back to me. For I do not seek power. I seek to destroy the wheel of it that has been crushing the lands of Essos and of Westeros.

The last monarchs of the Iron throne sought power for the sake of power. They never thought of you, their people. On and on it spun and has brought you under war after war. My own father was one of these monarchs, who took power and took pleasure in it. But before him came many other other Targaryiens, who made this land what was once Valyria; a prosperous land, a land of peace. My family is bound by blood to mightiest creatures of our worlds: the dragons. I alone can ride and command them. I came into Westeros and the great House of Stark swore their loyalty to me, for I had sworn to break the greatest Chain Westeros was victim to; the thread of the Night Kings and the Undead. I killed the Night King with the fire of my dragon. Many good men and women died, making the ultimate sacrifice for their people and the safety of these lands. The great night is over now. I have reinstalled the Starks as the rulers of the north. I have reinstalled the house of the Iron Islands, who promised to end their ways of piracy and violence. I do not seek to take out the great houses of Westeros. I have come to convince them of a new way. A way that leads to peace, not suffering. A way that benefits all of the people and not just the Cersei Lannisters of this world. Her own brother, Lord Tyrion supports this way. Lord and Lady >Stark support me in this way. Lady Orlenna Tyrell has supported me on this way, before Cersei Lannister took her life and lands, poisoning her. I have the support of Dorne and the Iron Islands, of Astapor and Meereen. I swear to work day and night to establish peace in Westeros, for all. I swear to rebuild the rubble the war of five kings has brought on these lands. We stand before the ruins of the great cept of balor, testimonial of centuries of knowledge and culture of Westeros. Cersei Lannister destroyed in in Greek fires, killing hundreds of innocents and ripping this great monument into dust. But we will not let her escape these crimes. Today, we stand together at the end of a reign and age of terror. If we want to rebuild a better future we must stand united and cleanse outself of the past. Today Cersei Lannister shall burn. And in the morrow, when her evil is nothing more but dust, I promise we shall rebuild the great Cept of Balor. And it shall stand once more, two times in glory and splendor and stand for the beginning of a new age, a better age, an age of peace and prosperity!”

A wave of electrified excitement went over the buge crowd. First applause was heard, incredulous happiness at the news of the rebuilding of the cept.

Arya had to force her gaze away, form the shining eyes and the passionate body, but she knew it was her duty to scan the crowd. Many grim face from before now looked surprised; some were impressed and others cheered, even. Yet there were still many grim face left, whom looked at her queen in scepsis. Arya#s eyes remained on them as Lord after Lord stepped forward and public ally declared their allegiance to Daenerys. It was an unheard of move, and a clever one again.

Only when Sansa and John declared the support of the north Arya looked up again and felt pride and love swell in her heart as her siblings made their vow. But just then she registered movement.

A man, hooded in rags made his way towards the stairs, steady and deliberate. Danger emanated from him in waves ; all it took was one second before Arya had gripped her dagger and glid down into the mass of people, as quiet as a shadow.

 

+++

 

Daenerys was shaking of adrenaline and pride. The people were elated. They cheered and screamed in excitement. It as going better than she had dared to dream. As the lord and ladies made their vows she turned to Tyrion, who in the first time since she could remember of them being in Westeros, smiled at her in earnest.

“Well done, your grace”, he said quietly, and she smiled wide and nodded her head at him. She went on cot catch a smile from Varys and a reserved one from Sansa Stark, when suddenly a shaking baritone voice cut through the vows and noise of the crowd.

“MURDERESS!”

She turned around to see a man, who had climbed onto o a horse wagon. He was dressed in rags, his face hidden beneath a hood.

Jorah stepped forward and unshed his sword, Tyrion stepped forward as well. The crowd fell into a hushed murmuring.

“Who are you, that you dare interrupt your queen?!”; he bellowed.

Daenerys could see Grew Worm about to give Orders to two Unsullied, but she caught his eyes and shook her head. It pained him visibly, but he ordered them to hold silently.

The man on the wagon straightened.

“I'm a proud Westerosi and I refuse to accept a foreign invader, who claims she is different form the ones before. She murdered the Tarlies when they stood in her way. She came on beasts of another world, promising peace when she wields weapons of death none us can fight. She is no queen of ours!”

The crowd turned loud again at that, screams of protest but also of outrage and murmurs of agreement. Single screams and question rose and Daenerys straightened her shoulders. She went to make her way towards him.

“Good man, step forward and reveal your name if-”

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a sharp pain exploded on her forehead and she stumbled back. She was caught by ssomeone and saw, as if time had slowed, a bloody stone fall before hear feet, hot blood running down her sleeve.

She looked up with a sharp breath, seeing Unsullied move and Missandei running towards her; she looked at the man on the wagon, who grinned at her with yellow teeth... and then, suddenly, a second figure jumped onto the wagon behind him. It was a small old man, in a green tunic and a brown leather doublet . Quick as a snake he jumped at her attacker and had drawn a tiny blade to his throat. Her eyes widened in recognition and she opened her mouth – then the colours blurred before her eyes and darkness took her.

 

 

 

 


	7. Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say something. 264 people are following this story and that makes me very happy. But while it is sad enough that only about 10 of you are so nice to comment, it makes me very angry that some of you have the audacity to just write rude comments demanding "more" like you were paying for this. Writing is a lot of work, especially when done in a language that is not your mother tounge. If I see anymore of this rudeness I will stop publishing this story immediatly. But now enough of that unpleasantness and enjoy the new chapter :) Arya and Daenerys find themselves a little closer than either of them had anticipated^^

 

 

Daenerys stood with both her palms spread over the council chamber stone table, her eyes downcast. A headache that hadn't left her since she had awoken on her bed after the commoner had attacked her with a stone plagued her even now - but she wasn't so sure it had only to do with her head wound but with the disaster that had happened while she was in the merciful clutches of sleep.

“I summarize your Grace”, Varys said in his sleek and booming voice, “This attack is not merely a sign coming from proud Westerosi commoners. While you were unconscious the Reach was taken from the keep of Lord Seaworth by the maesters, led by reclaimed Lord Samwell Tarly, followed by High Garden's people. He demands negotiations or else threatens to withhold to send their harvests to King's landing.”

Daenerys didn't look up from the table.

“And I suspect we depend on their Harvests, Lord Varys?”

“We do, your grace.”

Daenerys finally pushed herself off and looked at her closest council of advisers, Tyrion, Varys, Jorah, Missandei, Grey Worm and Lord Snow and Lady Stark, who all looked at her expectantly.

“Lord Tyrion, do you think the Lords who have sworn fealty to me yesterday, will hold their loyalty?”

“For now, your grace” replied the imp. “They will wait and watch what you will do. “

Ser Jorah rose. “Then we should stifle this rebellion before it can quell into more. Ride for High garden, your grace, and take the reach back!”

“To make it even clearer to the people who doubt me that I am nothing but a blood thirsty invader?”, Daenerys countered sharply.

“What is Samwell Tarly's relation to the House of Tarly?”

To her surprise Jon Snow answered her.

“He is the son of Lord Randal Tarly. He served with me in the Night Watch before he became a maester. He saved my life and he is my friend.”

He looked straight at her and Daenerys froze.

 _I killed his brother and father_ , she thought. Bile rose in her throat and she felt the heavy gaze of Tyrion.

“What happened to Lord Randall Tarly?”, Sansa Stark asked now.

It was silent for a long time. Finally Daenerys spoke.

“Lord Randall Tarly led the Lannister Forces against me at the Battle of the Goldroad. They died in battle.”

Jon opened his mouth and hurt went through his eyes.

“Samwell blames your for his family's death.”

Daenerys rose her chin defiantly.

“This was war Lord Snow. Samwell Tarly was on the side of our enemies. Had he survived he would have met a trial.”  
She could feel Tyrion's eyes bore into her but she did not look at him.

Jon seemed to think. “Let me go to High garden and negotiate with Samwell in your name, your grace. I know him well. ´He is a good man, he does not lust for power. No doubt his actions are guided by grief. Let me talk to him first and hear what he wants. If my attempts fail you can order him to High Garden.”

“Very well,” Daenerys conceded. “Lord Snow, ride to High Garden, send Lord Tarly my best wishes and try to persuade him that our cause is good. Lady Sansa, you will return to Winterfell and rule in his absence. Lord Varys – has our prisoner awoken yet?”

“No, your grace. The maesters still work on him.”

“And any news of the man who attacked him?”, asked Jorah.

The “man” that had beaten down her attacker had fought five of her unsullied unconscious before he escaped. That was what Daenerys had been told. She looked to Grey Worm.

“We are looking but so far no sign of him, your grace”, said the Unsullied.

Daenerys just nodded.

“Cease your search.”

“Your grace-”

“There is no proof he is in any way connected to the maesters rebellion in High garden. I need your forces here, commander, to protect me and the Keep.”

Tyrion cleared his throat and for the first time Daenerys looked at him since she had proclaimed the necessary lie.

“It is perhaps time now to talk about forming your queensguard, your grace.”  
Daenerys rose an eyebrow.

“I already have a queensguard.”

“Commander Grey Worm and the Dotrahki serve you well, you Grace. But they are foreigners. If you want to ease the minds of the people and the Lords who bear doubts on you, you should show them that you are a Queen of the Westerosi now. It is customary that the queens guard is made up by the bravest knights of the Lords feal to you. Those that swore fealty to you two days ago wish to present their candidates to you today. “

Daenerys suddenly felt very very tired.

“You want to put men into my closest proximity that I don't even know?”

“I can't allow something that dangerous, your grace”; Grey Worm said firmly, a hand tightly wound into a fist.

Now Missandei rose to speak.

“Perhaps you could even the ranks in your queensguard, your grace. Make half of them Unsullied and half of them Westerosi. Make Grey Worm your commander and he can hold trials for the send warriors to see who is worthy to serve in your queens guard.”

Daenerys folded her hands behind her back.

“Very well. Then let the lords in.”

When the council was filled with the most important lords in Westeros, they were quickly informed of the maester's rebellion in the reach. Daenerys could see that they approved of her choice to not meet them force immediately and she was greatly relieved. But she could see them couching around her, watching her like jackals.

One of them, Lord Florent, demanded to order Samwell Tarly directly to King's Landing. He was from the Reach and outraged by the gamble of the maester. After Daenerys aquised him of the importance of diplomacy and their dependence on the people and food of the reach he turned to Jon Snow.

“And why then send a Stark to negotiate first? A Northerner, who is know for his long allegiance to you?”

Jon explained the shared history of him and Lord Tarly but Lord Florent looked not convinced.

“And are you sure of his loyalty, your grace?”, the old man said sharply.

“All your history to be considered?”

Daenerys knew what he played at. Most of the room must have thought he referred to the Stark Targaryen history but she knew better. Lord Florent was one the few Lords who knew the truth of who had killed Cersei Lannister and who had demanded her imprisonment, though Daenerys and the Starks had him and the lords who knew convinced, that it was one not known to the public, so Arya could one day be released.

Jon swallowed and stared at him hard.

“All in this room have complicated history. I am loyal to Queen Daenerys Targaryen and I have sworn her fealty as you have, Lord Florent.”

The lords muttered amongst themselves when Tyrion rose his voice.

“My lords, perhaps it is time you present what you came here for to her grace now?”

And each Lord called in a knight of their house, praising their loyalty and glories in combat.

Some even presented two. She nodded at each of them politely and silently wondered how many of them might be assassins in disguise.

Finally it was the Stark's turn. Lord Snow lead a young broad shouldered man with raven dark hair into the room, who looked straight at her.

“Your grace I present to you Ser Gendry Waters. He joined my forces voluntarily in Dragonstone and fought with great bravery in the battle of the night. I knighted him for his services my self. He is from king's landing and knows the city well. He would serve you honorably.”

The young man gave a short bow. “Your grace”, he said with a deep voice.

Daenerys nodded at him as she had at all of the others and then declared the trials to choose three of them, while Kovarro, Aggo, Grey Worm and Jorah would remain.

There was displeased muttering by the lords but Daenerys wouldn't allow it. Finally, the lords were dismissed and send to their lands and Daenerys dismissed her council.

She sat down and closed her eyes, massaging her aching head. When Tyrion remained and spoke up she wasn't surprised.

“I understand you mean to do better, your grace, and why you thought it necessary to lie. But Jon Snow could find out the truth. And you know how the Starks take to lying.”

“Whoever was the witness that told Samwell Tarly, we can deny their claims. Say it was bad mouthing to spawn his anger against me. There are after all far worse things said about me. Now, if you excuse me, I have a meeting with Lady Sansa before I attend my sword lesson.”

 

+++

 

“All evidence points to your sister being a faceless man. Do you know what that means, Lady Stark?”

The red wolf of Winterfell's face was a stone mask.

“I made my own inquiries, your grace. I've come to the same conclusion.”

Daenerys took a careful sip of her wine and looked over the rim at the Lady Stark.

“And when I granted your sister mercy and made her my swords master you declined to let me know that she was one of the most deadliest assassins in the world?”

Sansa Stark folded her hands on her lap.

“Your grace. Arya has still not talked to me nor my brothers about what happened to her. Like we all she had to do what she had to do to survive. But Arya truly was a child when the war of the five kings started. Whatever her past in Bravos she abandoned it to come to her family's aid. She fought for you, your grace, seeking no reward, one of the most important fighters in the Night battle. She serves you now. And -” She took deep breath - “I believe we have both seen at your speech that she is truly loyal to you.”

Daenerys did not blink, only ran her fingers over her glass, trying not to let her wonderment and suspicion at that relaization show.

“She disobeyed my orders by leaving her cell. Who knows what else she has done in a different face. And while I appreciate she tried to protect me, she beat the man half to death. He is in a coma and of no use to me, no chance of learning more of my enemies among my people, just when the first rebellion against me has broken out before I could burn Cersei Lannister and be crowned.”

“My sister doesn't know the game of thrones. She never learned how to play it. She only knows fighting, honour and her family. But she has learned much in Braavos that goes beyond both our imagination, it seems. She fought all these years to make it back to her family and now she has to serve you. She does so willingly. I beseech your grace, to use these abilities. Arya will do everything to return to us in Winterfell. She will serve you with all her ability, as she has proven already.”

The Stark's speech was clear and convincing, her arguments well. _She is a queen more than my nephew_ , Daenerys realized.

“You are sure of your sister's love and loyalty to your family. Yet I am told she hardly speaks to you.”

At this Sansa looked taken aback. She obviously considered a while before choosing her answer.

“I believe.. she is ashamed of her past your grace. And clearly damaged. With the war we had no time to reconcile and find back to one another and after it you took her into your service.”

Daenerys nodded and rose form her seat, Sansa following quickly.

“I do trust you, Lady Stark and I am grateful to you. But your sister has made things very difficult for me. Not being able to put Cersei Lannister to trial has weakened my position immensely. I trust upon your return tot he north you will make sure to make your view of me that of your soldiers?”  
“My men have seen you fight for them and with them, your grace. They respect you. Should they ever learn, however, that you have taken our sister prisoner-”

“Then they must never learn. As as we agreed; I will release your sister from my service once she has served me well. I have arranged for you to say goodbye to her tomorrow before your departure, after the burning of Cersei Lannister's body. Please make sure that she is reminded of this service and its importance for our houses and Westeros.”

“I will, your grace.” The red haired woman seemed to hesitate, before she spoke: “Your grace, if I may ask: why did you not call Jon to this meeting?”

Daenerys smiled slightly. “Your brother is preparing already to leave for High Garden. It is not my impression he knows of Arya's abilities yet?”

Sansa seemed reluctant but ultimately shook her head.

“I cannot afford to cloud his mind further nor put more family burdens on him. I trust you will reconcile your family's past once Arya Stark has completed her service for me.”

Sansa nodded stiffly. Daenerys stepped closer to her with softer eyes. She did feel kinship to this woman and it pained her she had to convolute their relations by holding her sister. But Arya Stark's actions had to bear consequences and they both knew it.

She took the red wolf's hands.

“I wish you save travels, Lady Stark. I sincerely hope that when we shall meet next, your family will be united again.”

After a moment of hesitation Sansa bowed her head. “Thank you, your grace.”

 

+++

 

When she made her way to the balcony in Dothraki clothing yet again, Daenerys' head was pounding and her every muscle was pent-up with anger and resignation. In one more meeting she had had – despite Missandei's warning that she should lie down, true to the measter's instruction that she had a light concussion – she had learned that even with the help of the reach her people soon would not have enough food, for the war had tarnished harvests, farmers had died amass and fields had been burned, some by herself and her dragons.

The problems seemed to grow every day. And on top oft that she was seen as a ruthless invader, who had murdered Cersei Lannister and would murder anyone in her way.

When she finally reached the balcony she was met with a surprising view of the true murderess;

Arya Stark kneeled on the stone balustrade and gently held one of the blossoms that grew on the vines that entwined on the pillars in her palm, studying the petals with curiosity. She looked very very young and Daenerys' heart unwillingly ached. So very young and so full of darkness. So full of honour and of stupidity. Could this woman be the honorable Stark that fought for her family and for herself in the war? A merciless assassin? Her unbidden protector? A queen slayer, who took justice and legitimization out of her hands? The sight, combined with the complications of her day had Daenerys full with battling emotions to the brim. When she took her final step, the was Stark visibly caught of guard and quickly jumped down from the balustrade.

“Your grace”, she said in that gravelly voice and bowed her head briefly. Daenerys came to halt before her.

“Lady Stark.”

Arya' gray eyes wandered over her and lingered on the bruise on her temple.

“You should not fight today, your grace”, she proclaimed evenly. “You're injured.”

Daenerys was both surprised and enraged by the words. She was more dragon right now than Daenerys and she had no power nor will left to fight that anymore

She stepped right into Arya's space and reached behind her, taking one of the wooden practice swords slowly.

“No? You are still injured and seemed to have no problem running, battling a man down and fighting five of my Unsullied.”

For a brief second surprise glimmered in Arya's eyes, then it was a mask again.

“Your grace?”, she simply asked. The impertinence.

“You deny it?”

“Deny what, your grace.”

“That you disobeyed my orders, roamed around in King's landing attended my speech, and beat the man that threw a stone at me half to death! Pick up your sword!”

Arya's brow furrowed but she gripped her practice sword with a calm movement and went into the starting position.

Daenerys mirrored her without taking her eyes of the gray ones, hunting for emotion. She lounged at her and Arya parried effortlessly, stepping back. Seeing she made no move to charge herself Daenerys went for her again, this time with more force.

“What were you doing at my speech? Why did you interfere?”

Arya blocked her attack, fought back and Daenerys could tell she was going easy on her.

Arya allowed a few exchanges of hits before she ducked and held her sword to Daenerys breast.

“What makes you think it was me who fought your attacker?”

Daenerys shook her head. Hey vision was blurry. They circled each other and she gripped her sword with both hands, knowingly breaking the Stark's instruction.

“He moved like you do. And he wore what you're wearing.”

Now Arya charged and there was a half smile on her face.

“You have keen eyes, my queen.”

They parried for a moment, then Arya beat the sword out of her hands. Daenerys stumbled back.

Arya caught her arm to keep her from falling and her touch was cool on Daenerys' heated skin.

Suddenly the Stark looked serious again.

“I'm sorry I didn't reach him sooner. My imprisonment and my wound still seems to slow me down.”

Daenerys blinked at her, her jaw tight. 

“You admit to disobeying my orders then? And you show no regret?” 

“I regret that I could not prevent this.” Arya pointed at her bruise and there was senciere contriteness in her gray eyes. It bewildered Daenerys. Slwoly she bend down and picked up her weapon.

“How did you get past my guard? He has reported nothing.”

Arya stepped back and moved her blade with both her arms behind her back.

“You guessed already what I am, your grace. I have my ways. But as you can see I returned. And I prevented this man to do you further harm. You would not have recognized me had you not seen me fight before. I came for your protection.”

Daenerys seethed within. She stepped so close to the Stark there was a mere inch between their faces.

“I did not order you to protect me. I ordered you to be my swords master. I ordered you to remain in your cell, else I permit it!”

Arya, in the face of another dragon, did nor flinch again.

“I can be of more use to you than that, my queen,” she said calmly.

“Your use to me is not your say. You have done plenty on your own before I sat eyes on you. Have you seen the people? Have you heard of the reach? People think I'm a blood thirsty invader! A savage, who stole the Iron throne! And all because you wouldn't let me bring Cersei lannister to justice!”

At that Arya's calm mask seemed to crumble a little.

“I told you before I never meant for that to happen. I wanted to rid this world from Cersei Lannister and avenge my family, nothing more. I am... I regret the consequences it had for you. If I had known -”

“You would have acted differently? Can you honestly say that?”

Arya remained silent, her eyes burning.

Daenerys slowly shook her head, black spots in her vision again.

“You studied my family's history, Lady Stark. You seem to have studied many things. And despite the way you dress, you behave, you're not a mere commoner, you are of noble birth and with that comes responsibility. I made myself familiar with the story of your family, too. It is said how much you resemble your aunt, Lyanna Stark. You're acting just like her: without thought, short sighted and _selfish_.”

At that Arya charged at her with an angry cry, Daenerys was taken aback at the strength of the attack, barely paring it.

Daenerys stumbled backward under the wrath of the slashes and Arya finally stopped the swirl of swords by gripping the Targaryien's wooden sword in her right and with a cry she pushed Daenerys into a wall, trapping her between cold stone and her body, her own practice weapon pressing into her neck.

Daenerys' chest was heaving as she stared into the wild face of Arya Stark. Her teeth were flared, her gray eyes burning with cold fire and Daenerys felt the woman's undempt strength upon her for the first time. Arya's left hand had doped her sword and held her right one mercilessly to the stone.

When Arya spoke, her tone was as low and as gravelly as Daenerys had ever heard it and it send a shiver down her spine.

“My aunt's actions may have been careless, yes. But it was your brother, the crown prince, who took her with him. He was to be king and the people were _his_ responsibility. And it was him that failed them. Their union produced my brother... your _nephew_ , who fights for you. As I fight for you. Their union sparked the rebellion that rid this kingdom of the Mad King, _your_ father.”

While she had spoken Arya had closed in on her even more, her grip tightening.

Daenerys could feel their breasts press against each other, as the rest of their torsos. Leather was roughly scraping at her exposed midriff. Her heart beating heavily, and the blurriness in her head pounding, she looked at Arya's lips and then her stormy eyes met wolf ones .

Arya blinked and suddenly seemed to realize their proximity. The Stark herself breathed heavily now. She looked down their bodies and then her eyes flickered over Daenerys' lips to her eyes again. Heat mounted between them and neither made to loosen the tight lock they were in.

Daenerys took a heaving breath. “And what do you think of me, then, Arya Stark? Do you think me wicked, a monster? A mad slayer like my father? My own advisers thought so when I killed two lords when they refused to aid me in my quest to bring Cersei Lannister down.”

She broke herself off, shocked of what she had revealed. She wasn't thinking clearly. Her head pounded.

Arya seemed to consider this. Daenerys felt her breath hot on her skin.

“A queen must make hard choices. You would have given Cersei Lannister a trial, which is more than she deserved. I do not think you are a mad slayer. You spared me.”

The last words were spoken as a disbelieving whisper and when gray eyes sought hers, almost shyly, and that wolf face was adorned by that half smile again, Daenerys pressed back against the stone wall frightened, her heart fluttering.

_Oh gods._

Arya sighed. “Do you want me gone from your service?”

Daenerys had great trouble focusing her view.

“You... have...”, she brought forward with great difficulty “sworn... yourself... to me. I will not...”

A sharp pounding rose in her head and black stars danced before her eyes. All strength left her body at once and she sacked forward, into Arya Stark's arms, her face falling into her neck with a sigh.

“My queen-” Two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her upright.

 _She smells of pine_... the realization was clear in the pounding mess of Daenerys' thoughts and she felt Arya hold her up, her wooden sword clattering to the ground with a painfully loud noise. She breathed in the fresh earthly smell and her lips pressed unwittingly onto the warm skin of Arya's neck.

For a moment she felt the Stark's entire body tense around her. Daenerys let her whole weight rest on the woman holding her tightly, engulfed by the smell of pines and soft black hair caressing her face. She closed her eyes. She felt safe and warm and she couldn't see any reason not to anymore.

Then she was swept into the air suddenly, feeling weightless and adrift and only when she noticed the light changing and the movement of up and down without her feet moving she realized that Arya Stark was carrying her.

 

+++

 

Arya was almost glad that the situation at hand compelled her not to think about how she had felt being pressed to Daenerys Targaryen, in a familiar heated angry lock, that had then somehow turned into something very different and unfamiliar before the queen had suddenly collapsed into her arms, snapping Arya out of her strange fiery daze.

As she pressed into a dark corner, cradling the queen's head against her chest so it wouldn't hit the moldy stone, she waited still as a statue, as a guard on the other end of the corridor moved past on his patrol.

Her mind raced. Where did one go with a half conscious, clearly unwell queen of the seven kingdoms in ones arms, when one was a prisoner to one half and a lost noble born to the other, that in neither view was supposed to be here?

Not for the first time since she wore her own face again did she think how much more difficult it could be.

Her mind raced. She thought of Jon and Sansa. She couldn't risk anyone finding her with the queen like this and accusing her of the situation. But her queen also needed help. She finally decided to rush to her own cell room, knowing that the guard was to scared of her to do anything but obey her.

Forcefully ignoring the two slender arms that tightened around her neck suddenly and the silver hair in her face, she rounded a corner quickly and came into view of the guard in front of her room.

He looked at her and Daenerys in her arms and his jaw fell open. He gripped his spear with both hands.

“She collapsed in training. Suffering a concussion no doubt”, she explained in a whisper while moving towards him. “Open that door, and then find the Queen's handmaiden Missandei. Speak to no one else but run to find her, tell her she needs to bring a healer of her trust and to hurry.”

The soldier had barely time to open the heavy door before Arya rushed through it.

Going straight to her scarcely used bed Arya bend her knees and gently lowered Daenerys onto the mattress. The queen's naked arms slid slowly from her face to her side and Arya worried if the heated skin was a sign of fever or simply testament to her dragon's blood.

She could hear the guard running off. Swiftly she took one of the shirts that were given to her, tore a piece off the sleeve and soaked it in the water jug on the night stand.

Then she placed it carefully onto the queens white brow.

When the cold cloth touched her skin, Daenerys' eyes fluttered open and fixed unsteadily on her.

Arya was mindful to keep her face neutral.

“Don't worry your grace – I brought you to my room. I would have brought you elsewhere but I know you don't want me seen. I've send for Missandei and a healer.”

Daenerys just blinked and kept looking at her, her unsteadied eyes soft. It unnerved her.

“Can't you wait until you call for them?”, she asked in a whisper.

Arya couldn't have heard right.

“My queen?”

Daenerys sighed heavily. “The maester said I suffer from a slight concussion. I just have overexerted myself, that is all. I need to rest and I'd like to be alone for a while.”

Arya crouched down in front of the bed.

“I – I'm sorry your grace, I have already sent for them.”

Daenerys turned her head at her.

“I am never alone, do you know that? I answer to a thousand people every day.”

Nervously Arya looked to the door. That bloody guard had better hurry.

“You are the queen. You can demand to be alone whenever you wish to.”

Daenerys shook her head and a bitter smile rushed over her lips.

“I wish it were that easy.”

It was quiet for a while. Arya didn't dare to move and after a while the queen''s eyes flickered from her to the low burning candle on her night stand.

Daenerys reached up with an unsteady hand and held her fingers into he flame.

In instinct Arya made to grip her wrist. But then she saw that the flame did nothing to the Queen's white hand. She stared at the miracle in front of her in awe. _“The Unburnt”_ , she remembered Missandei saying as she had kneeled before and looked upon Daenerys Targaryen for the first time.

She felt eyes on her and looked down on the queen's sweat stained face and violet intense eyes looking at her with amusement.

Arya let go of her wrist immediately.

“Should I go?”, she asked quietly, not knowing what to do with herself.

“Do you ask my permission now before you do what comes to your mind, wolf?”, Daenerys asked with her brows raised and a smile in the corners of her lips.

Arya could do nothing but stare.

Daenerys smiled and her eyes went unfocused again, before they drifted closed.

“Stay. I trust you will guard me until they arrive.”

_I trust you._

The words resounded in Arya's mind and they put a strange, pleasant weight onto her chest while her stomach clenched within itself.

Wordlessly she rose and sat on the same chair the queen once had sat on while she was lying injured in that bed.

She put a hand on her dagger and watched the door unmoving.

A long while there was a comfortable silence between her and the queen and she even thought that she had fallen asleep.

“Do you think I am an invader?”

The question was whispered softly into the room, almost inaudible.

Arya shifted her gaze onto the bed.

The queen lay on her side now, her face wet with sweat and her brows scrunched together over tired eyes. She looked at Arya as if her answer held the final straw to her tired back and it took Arya's breath away. She swallowed.

“You _are_ an invader, my queen. But I heard the stories of what you did in the other kingdoms that you invaded. You freed the weakest there. You have to show the weakest here you intend to help them as well. For them a new ruler has never made a difference.”

Daenerys blinked rapidly, clearly having trouble to focus.

“Who are they?”

“The people of Flea Bottom.”

“How do you know this?”

Arya gripped her dagger more tightly.

“After I fled the Lannisters I was forced to roam the streets there. I never saw more filth and poverty in Westeros nor Bravos.”

Daenerys' hand suddenly touched her arm.

“Did no one help you?”

Arya's mind went back unbiddingly to the birds that flew in the sky as Yoren forbid her to watch when they cut off her father's head; she saw the stable boy she killed,her first kill, and she saw Joren pierced through by a coward's sword.

But before she could answer Missandei burst through the door, followed by her guard and a maester.

Wordlessly she stood up to make them room and watched how a distraught Missandei spoke to Daenerys in soft High Valyrian and how the maester went to work. Arya backed silently into the shadows, standing guard.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know these two haven't even met and I wanted to wait to write about them until they have, but I couldn't wait any longer. Enjoy and let me know what you think!


End file.
